


Generations 17: Ireland

by Fier



Series: Generations [19]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Family Loss, Fluff, Grief, In-Laws, Ireland, Loss, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:06:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26069182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fier/pseuds/Fier
Summary: Mulder and Scully are summoned to the old country to keep a promise to an old woman. Mulder keeps a promise he made to Dana's dead father and Scully sees something that makes her far less skeptical.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully, Margaret Scully/Walter Skinner
Series: Generations [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1857445
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Title** : Generations 17. Ireland  
>  **Authors:** Juliettt, Macspooky
> 
> We're baaaaack. . . . Juliettt here, writing on behalf of Macspooky, my partner in crime. Wave to the nice fanfic readers, Mac. ::Mac waves:: Anyway, we've got another multi-parter for you, though it's not as long as "In-laws." It's the next part of the Generations series and it takes place in June, after Margaret's and Walter's wedding. 
> 
> I wanted to take this opportunity to thank Mac for allowing me to cowrite with her some more. It's fun to step into a fanfic universe that is at the same time more and less serious than my own. Thanks, Mac! ::Juliettt gives Mac a cyberhug.:: 
> 
> This story is very different from "In-laws" in that instead of writing whole chapters separately we worked on the whole thing together. As Mac said once, you should _see_ the volume of mail between us. Probably longer than the story! Oh, and as promised, this one is also somewhat more upbeat than "In-laws," as well. Still rated "R" for adult situations, however. 
> 
> Ooops, almost forgot! _blush_ Umm, as always, Dana Scully (Mulder), Fox Mulder, Margaret Scully (Skinner), and Walter Skinner belong to Chris Carter -- we're just borrowing them for purposes to which he would probably never put them and we mean no offense to him or Ten-Thirteen Productions or FOX Broadcasting or Gillian Anderson, David Duchovny, Sheila Larken, and Mitch Pileggi. The McBrides and everybody else here that you've never seen on _The X-Files_ belong to Macspooky. I didn't "invent" anybody this time. In fact, most of the ideas found herein are hers. It was just my turn to write the disclaimer. . . .All comments can be sent to Juliettt@aol.com or Macspooky at cullinan@mail.erols.com 
> 
> Okay, that's it! We hope you enjoy!

Special Agent Dana Scully sat on her partner's lower back wearing nothing but his white cotton t-shirt to keep the springtime chill coming in through the open windows off her fair skin. His shoulders were tense, too tense. She knew he was deeply worried about something and wanted to talk about it but didn't know how. With hands surprisingly strong for their small size, she rubbed some softly scented skin cream into his shoulder blades, kneading the muscles as she did so. Her partner and beloved husband had tried to make love to her that night, and for the first time since they had been married, he had failed seemingly for no reason. The once or twice it had happened after he had been shot on Martha's Vineyard could hardly be counted. It was a testimony to the miraculous power of their feelings for one another that he had been able to make love to her at all then, so severe had been his injuries. Now, Dana had to find a way to let him know that it was okay, that it didn't matter, that everyone had an off day. She had been kind of tired anyway. Perhaps it had been partially her fault. It was only one of many small clues that something was on his mind, however. Fox was so hard on himself sometimes, though, often making things difficult for her as well, and it wasn't always easy to get him to talk to her.

"Does that feel good, Fox?" she asked softly, applying more lotion and continuing to knead.

"Yeah," he muttered in disgust. He had wanted to make love to her so badly, to forget about the whole week. She'd been down at Quantico a lot substituting for a sick pathologist who had been teaching a class, leaving him to hold down the fort in his basement office in DC. It had gone from bad to worse, a week of doing stupid stakeouts and surveillance. Things were never the same when she was gone. Of course, there had also been the usual snide remarks about what Spooky might or might not be doing while the Ice Queen was away, etc., but he was accustomed to that. It wasn't that that was bothering him. They had been together at home at night, of course, but by the time they both dragged themselves in the door she was too tired from the long commute and he too disgruntled from the day's frustrations to talk much, let alone do anything more physically and emotionally demanding. It was just so -- unsettling not to have her within reach at all times, and he had laughed at himself more than once for having come to rely on her so heavily, each laugh followed with a sigh because he just _missed_ her. And today everything had come to a head and he realized that it might be his former happiness that was temporary rather than the current situation. And it had upset him so badly that they could not take advantage of what time they did have together, and now he could not even talk about it.

"Okay," she said slipping off of him and lying beside him, "what gives, Spookster?"

"Obviously nothing," was his miserable reply.

"I didn't mean that. I mean what's going on at work?" He turned on his side away from her, so she got up, moved to the other side of the bed, and weaseled her way into his arms, forcing him to move over and give her room. "I mean," she said softly, "what's her name?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, attempting to escape. He really wanted to be left alone to sulk about his inability to perform. He didn't want to tell her about what had happened at work.

"I mean, if it has you this flustered, it's got to be about a woman."

"Look, I don't want to talk about it. Okay?"

"Okay," she replied, but she didn't let go of the arm she held wrapped around her body. "Night, Spook. I love you."

She had given in much too easily. That worried him, and annoyed him.

"Night," he replied, but he began to grow restless. Why hadn't she continued to nag? Isn't that what she would normally have done? Jeez, he wished she wouldn't press so closely against him. She smelled nice. The closeness was doing things to him, making his failure all the more dismal. To make matters worse, he was now on the "wrong" side of the bed. Then, he realized he had forgotten to cover Krycek's cage which meant the damn parrot would probably talk all night long. He would never get any sleep, but he felt too lazy to get up and do anything about it. She was snuggling even closer.

"Oh, jeez," he muttered moving away slightly and turning her on her back and moving to his side once again. "You are impossible, Scully. . . ."

She expected him simply to take her right then. She could tell that, whatever his physical difficulties had been earlier, he had overcome them, due in part, no doubt, to her deliberate displays of affection. And she wouldn't have minded in the least. But although sex was a wonderful part of their marriage, he knew that for his own sake as well as for hers they had to clear the air between them before making love. He never wanted things to go back to the way they had been at Christmastime. He never wanted to be that blind to her again. Physical intimacy was important, but their psychological and emotional connection was essential.

He tried to sit up but she firmly pressed him back down against the mattress, face down. His shoulders were still so tense, the muscles like hard knots beneath her fingers. And whatever it was that was bothering him, he might find it easier to tell her if he didn't have to look her in the eyes. That was okay, so long as he told her. They were still working on the complete trust that exemplified their partnership and marriage. It would be an ongoing process, she knew.

He sighed, half in frustration, half in pleasure as her small but strong hands carefully worked on his shoulders and back once again. She purposefully kept her hands high so that he would not get -- distracted.

"It's Skinner's replacement," he finally admitted.

"Agent Davis?" He nodded and she moved to his neck. "What about her?"

"She called me in today. Really reamed me out over the last batch of paperwork."

"So? Skinner reams you out all the time."

"Yeah, but he's usually right, Scully. And he _usually_ confines his complaints to the current problem."

"And I take it she didn't."

He snorted. "She cited chapter and verse on everything I've ever done wrong. . . ."

"Must've taken all afternoon," Scully joked, but repented immediately when he didn't join in her laughter. Mulder himself was so sardonic about his position within the Bureau that at times she forgot how much it must hurt him. "I'm sorry, Spook," she said softly. "That's pretty awful." He took a deep breath and went on. "That's not the worst of it. _Then_ she said that if it were up to her -- and it might be someday soon -- I would be out of the Bureau for good because my 'mentor' wouldn't be able to help me any more."

Scully paused in her stroking of his shoulders for a moment until he shrugged them slightly, mutely urging her to continue. She smiled a little at his back and resumed her slow, deep massage. "Wonder what she meant by that?"

He shook his head slightly. "Sounds to me like she's gunning for Skinner's job."

She frowned. "Wonder what makes her think she's got a shot at it? I mean, he's only gone on his honeymoon -- it's not like he's been suspended or anything." she thought.

"Naah, that's our department, Shorts," he said, eliciting a laugh from her. "What?"

"Nothing. Go on."

"Well, I just didn't like the way she said it. Skinner's got a lot more clout since New Mexico, but something just doesn't add up. Oh, and another thing -- the office reeked of smoke."

Scully sighed. Cancerman again. She bent and pressed her lips to Mulder's bare shoulder, sensing that he had not yet told her everything. In fact, if anything his shoulders seemed to grow even more tense.

"What else, Spook?" she asked softly.

He stiffened and started to retort "isn't that enough?" then slumped in defeat. She would get it out of him eventually -- she always did. And they had promised not to hide anything from one another anymore. And this affected her as well.

"After she was finished with me I went to the Memorial to eat lunch." Scully nodded. He had done this frequently, especially in the early days of their partnership, and still took refuge there when she could not join him for lunch. He hesitated, then continued. "After a few minutes she came and sat next to me."

"Who, Davis?" Dana asked in disbelief.

"Yep. Suddenly she was all -- friendly," he continued.

"Friendly how?" she asked, curious.

"Friendly friendly. _Too_ friendly. Kind of like . . . like she was. . . ." He paused, then sighed. "Scully, I think she was coming on to me -- OUCH!"

"Sorry," she said automatically. She had pinched him just a little too hard. "What did she do?"

"Do? She didn't really _do_ anything," he said sarcastically. "Just sat down and started eating her lunch. I was so surprised I didn't know _what_ to say. Then she started talking." He paused again and she waited for him to continue. After a moment, he did. "She said it was awfully nice that our marriage hadn't precluded our working together, as some Assistant Directors wouldn't have felt so comfortable having two agents -- especially two agents who had been partnered -- involved with one another. She hinted that Skinner had done it as a favor to your mother."

"That's ridiculous!" Dana sputtered. "If anything, Skinner's gone out of his way to be harder on us so nobody can accuse him -- _or_ us -- of favoritism! And our solve rate has actually gone _up_ since we were married!"

"I know, Short Stuff," he soothed. "And I think everyone else knows it, too -- it's just her way of trying to get to me."

"So, what else did she say?"

He hesitated again. Scully wasn't going to like this. "She said that if anything ever happened to Skinner -- those were her exact words, too, 'happened to Skinner' -- the new A.D. might not see things the same way. We might be reassigned -- both of us. I told her that our division needed a trained pathologist. She pointed out that there is a shortage of field agents in Violent Crimes and that it was entirely possible a new A.D. might find it necessary to assign a less highly qualified agent to pathology to 'free up existing personnel with more experience.'"

Dana thought with a sudden thrill of anger. What a manipulative, conniving little . . . . Monica Davis obviously knew just what she was doing, threatening not only the future of the integrity of the X-Files' forensic evidence, but possibly Scully's personal safety as well. Being stuck down at Quantico as she had been for the last week was bad enough -- and suddenly she wondered just how much acting A.D. Davis had had to do with that little arrangement -- but Scully would _not_ want to go into the field with anybody else but Mulder, no matter how seasoned, watching her back. They were far more effective together than they were on their own, which was why they had been allowed to remain together. She wondered just how long either of them would last anymore without the other; not that they couldn't take care of themselves, but with the absolute trust that Mulder was covering her she was able to throw herself into field work with an intensity she never safely could have without him, and she knew he felt the same way.

Mulder went on. Might as well tell her everything. "Then she said that I might do 'well' -- again, her words, not mine -- to 'cooperate' with my new boss -- should this come to pass. Her tone left no doubt that she believed it would. She said I should consider making myself 'personally available' instead of shutting myself off in my own world and that she trusted I would be willing to 'work with her' -- oh, by this point there was no pretending that there might be anybody else in question -- during the transition."

"Hmmm. So she didn't say anything, I don't know -- explicit?"

"You mean, did she try to tear my clothes off on the steps of the Memorial? Tell me to meet her at the Motel Six for a quickie after work? No, Scully. . . . But if you could have seen the way she was _looking_ at me. . . . Plus she had let her hair down and she must have put on some perfume or something, and more makeup. And she was doing -- that _thing_ women do with their hair when they're coming onto a guy."

"What 'thing' with their hair?"

"You know. That -- thing, where you curl a lock of your hair around your finger and kind of play with it near your mouth."

Scully's eyebrows lifted.

"You know -- you did it to me all the time before we were married."

" _Me_!"

"Yes, you. Don't tell me you didn't know you were doing it."

"I never!"

"Oh, yes, you did," he insisted, sitting up to face her. "You would sit there reading files and you would start playing with your hair, like this." He slid his fingers through the long strands of red hair near her cheek and began winding it around one long forefinger. Then he placed the tip of his finger against her lips. "You used to drive me nuts, doing that," he said, his voice a whisper now. "I'd look up from the driest, dullest case file and catch you doing that and I couldn't help but stare. And then I'd just hope you didn't catch me watching you."

"Then what happened?" she asked, her own voice low and rough. She found the course of this conversation deeply disturbing. Monica Davis was their immediate supervisor. Her position -- temporary as it was -- made her a formidable enemy indeed. Had she become obsessed with Mulder? The thought was frightening.

"Wha? Oh -- Davis," he said after a moment of confusion. She smiled, thrilled that he had been so distracted that he had forgotten what he was going to say. She knew he would never -- _never_ \-- cheat on her, but it still made her happy that she was able to have this effect upon him. It felt good to know that the feeling was mutual. . . . "I looked her right in the eye to let her know I knew what was going on." He grinned suddenly. "And then I told her that my wife was already almost more woman than I could handle and I had neither the energy nor the desire even to consider an affair."

"You didn't!"

He laughed. "No, I didn't," he admitted. "What I _really_ said was that my wife -- my _partner_ \-- and I didn't cheat on one another and that I loved her too much to let anything -- even my career -- get in the way of our marriage," he said quietly.

Her eyes glowed, and then she sighed. "They could use that against us, you know."

"They already know it's true," he said, hugging her, "and it gave me great satisfaction to say it to her face." She grinned and he bent to kiss her, his anxiety -- and the physical manifestation thereof -- forgotten. She pushed him back onto the bed again. "Hey, Scully?" he whispered as she bent to kiss him.

"What?"

"What I said before -- what I _didn't_ say to Davis -- that's true, too."

This provoked one of her most beautiful smiles, the ones that started at the corners of her lips and spread across her entire face, finishing in her eyes. Then she bent over him once more and he forgot Davis, he forgot the Bureau, he forgot everything except this woman who was his partner and his partner in life, whom he loved more than life itself. . . .

"Does that feel good, Fox . . . does that feel good, Fox. . . ."

She pulled away and they stared at each other momentarily, then burst out laughing.

" _Why_ does that bird _always_ seem to pick up on phrases that can be used as double entendres?" she mused.

He shook his head and brushed her hair out of her eyes. "I dunno. But we're going to have to do something about it. . . . Maybe you _should_ cook him for dinner."

She gaped at him. "What?!"

He grinned. "Well, if we gave him away he might give away . . . secrets."

She collapsed against him, laughing helplessly. "I never thought I'd live to see the day I'd long to hear him say a simple, 'Help! Murder!'"

"Help! Murder! Up and at 'er, Mulder. . . . Open your legs, Scully. . . . Open your legs, Scully. . . . Does that feel good, Fox. . . ." Now he was laughing, too. "Geez, this is like color commentary. . . ."

She giggled. "Good thing you didn't have Krycek while you were still watching those tapes. . . ."

He groaned. "No kidding. Our neighbors would think I was having an affair or something."

"Go ahead -- rip 'em off me, Fox. . . . Does that feel good. . . ."

"SHUT UP!" he yelled finally over Dana's giggles. "Actually. . . ."

"Not this time, Mulder," she said solemnly. He frowned, puzzled, and then he saw what she meant. . . . He had forgotten she wasn't wearing anything to rip off, purple or otherwise.

<hr>

"So what are you going to do about Davis?" Dana asked quietly much later.

He sighed and pulled her more fully into his embrace. "I don't know. I've made it pretty plain to her how I feel. I'm hoping she'll drop it, but somehow I don't think so." That afternoon the acting A.D. had _not_ seemed too happy when, after delivering his little speech on marital fidelity, Mulder had gotten up from his seat and stalked back towards the J. Edgar Hoover Building. And that very afternoon Violent Crimes had sent him a file on a serial killer who needed to be profiled. He knew it was her way of getting in the last word and informing him that she meant business. She didn't dare do anything to Scully yet, but she could make him worry and distract him from his own work by keeping him busy with external matters.

"Do you think she knows something about Skinner we don't know?"

He shook his head. "I doubt it. Well, maybe more than _we_ know, but not more than he does. And if I know Skinner, as much as he loves your mother he wouldn't leave if he knew there was a major shakeup in the works."

"Maybe he doesn't know."

He shrugged. "It's possible. He really ticked off some folks over the DAT tape. I just don't know."

"Please, Fox," she said softly, "please just be careful, okay?"

He nodded and kissed the top of her head. "I would never do anything to put you in danger, Dana," he whispered. "Never again."

She nodded against his chest. "I know."

"I love you, Dana," he whispered. She smiled and opened her mouth to respond when the phone rang. He rolled over and fumbled with it, knocking it off onto the floor. It just _had_ to be. . . . "Hello, Melissa."

A pause. Then, "Fox?"

"Oh. Hi, mom. Sorry -- every time Melissa calls I knock the phone off the hook, so . . . never mind." His mind churned. Wait a minute. "Are you in Ireland?"

"Yes. Is -- is Dana there?"

Something was wrong. "Mom? Is everything okay?"

Silence. "Gran's -- really sick, Fox," she said softly. His eyes closed. He really liked Gran McBride, Dana's grandmother. She had told him to marry Dana, and she believed in extra-terrestrials, too -- "little gray banshees," she called them. He turned and handed the phone to his wife.

"It's your mother." Her eyes met his fearfully for a moment as she took the receiver from his hand.

"Mom?" Her eyes followed Fox as he slid out of bed and left the room. She heard a quiet as he picked up the cordless phone in the other room.

"Oh, no -- not now. . . ." There was the sound of muttering -- what sounded like mingled curses and threats, and then Mulder joined her in the bedroom and shut the door.

"Dana, sweetheart, it's Gran."

Her eyes went wide. "Oh, Mom -- is she. . . ?"

"No, darling, she's still alive, but her heart is getting weaker. She has trouble walking and is short of breath. The doctors -- they don't think it will be very long. The thing is, Sweety, she keeps asking for you and Fox. She keeps saying that young Wolf promised to come so she could show him where Brendan was taken by the banshees. I know it sounds crazy, Dana, but it's, she's . . . breaking my heart."

"No, no, Mom, it doesn't sound crazy at all." Dana's eyes filled with tears and Fox, now seated on the bed beside her, slid his arm around her shoulders and hugged her to him. She and her grandmother had always been very close. He too had come to love the old woman, and he knew she loved him. Suddenly he had an idea.

"Mom? Could you put Skinner on the phone?" he asked preemptorily. Dana stared at him. This was a transatlantic call -- what was he up to?

There was a muffled sound as of two voices conferring very low, and then his boss's -- his stepfather-in-law's -- strident tones, somewhat softened with worry and perhaps sorrow. "Hello?"

"Sir." He carefully kept his voice deferential. "I want to ask you a favor."

"What is it, Mulder?" he sighed. He was not in the mood to deal with one of Mulder's outlandish requests at this moment. He was on his honeymoon, with the woman he loved, and her mother was dying. What next?

"I want to take some personal time. We're coming to Ireland," he said firmly. Dana gasped and turned to look at him, her eyes round. If it hadn't been such a serious situation he would have found it funny -- and adorable.

There was another momentary silence, then he heard Skinner speaking in a low voice to Margaret, evidently explaining what her son-in-law had just said. When the A.D. returned to the phone his relief and -- gratitude? -- was palpable.


	2. Chapter 2

That had all been hours ago. The interim had been filled with all the last-minute details that seemed so insignificant when you were planning your time but so time-consuming when you actually set about doing them: stopping the mail, the paper, calling a few friends to let them know they would be out of the country, throwing away perishable foods. . . . But at last everything had been done and they had hurried to the airport and checked their bags.

Now they were seated in the airport terminal, waiting for their plane to board. First the stewardess called for couples with small children. He watched Dana's eyes as she watched them, young men and women with babies in their arms, families with tiny children in Osh Kosh overalls, laden down with diaper bags and stuffed toys. She closed her eyes and he could feel her pain as palpably as his own, knowing it must be worse for her, knowing that had all gone as planned she would be showing now, feeling their baby kicking and moving inside of her instead of the dull, dead emptiness that was a constant reminder of their loss. He remembered the family pictures they had taken over Christmas, back when their joy was still new and full, and thought of the portraits they would take in the future. Wondered if the blank spot would always stare back at him accusingly. Wondering if he would ever be a father, if he would ever get to see Dana nursing their baby, ever get to hold the tiny sweet- smelling person in his arms. Wondering when -- if -- that horrible pain in her eyes would ever go away, replaced by that softness he had learned to recognize in the face of a new mother. He slid an arm around her and hugged her close.

She huddled against him, burying her face in his shoulder, and shook a little. He didn't know -- and she would not tell him -- that she had gone to the doctor on her own to see if there was anything the matter with her. They still didn't know what had been wrong with their baby, why she had been unable to carry it to term. And the fact that they had been unable to get pregnant since then scared and saddened her. Was there something physically wrong with her? Was that why -- or had something gone wrong when they had done the medical procedures on her after the miscarriage? Dana knew that was unfair; Amy had been very careful and would hav told her had there been a mistake, but still she was afraid. But there had been nothing wrong. Nothing that they could find, anyway. Nothing to lessen the ache of her empty arms and womb or the pain in her heart. Nothing to give her any hope. Just -- nothing.

But she still had Fox. She would always, always have Fox, she knew, snuggling a little closer. During those awful days at Martha's Vineyard she had thought he would be taken away from her, too. But he hadn't. And he had promised they would keep trying. She smiled a little. They _had_ kept trying; even when it wasn't the right time in her cycle they "worked at it," as he said with a grin. They were very, very good at trying.

She heard the stewardess's voice again and then Fox was pulling away from her and standing up. He offered her his hand and she stood as well. He leaned down and looked into her eyes. They were sorrowful but clear.

"All right now?" he asked gently, and she nodded. He bent and kissed her softly, then whispered in her ear. "I love you, Dana." She smiled at him and squeezed his hand as he led her toward the boarding ramp.

She looked around. Most of the passengers were still seated. Only a few, businessmen and women from the looks of it, were ahead of them in the short line. The stewardess lifted her microphone again.

"Once again, now preboarding all first-class passengers on flight 773 to London. . . ." Dana stopped in her tracks, tugging on her husband's hand. He looked back and down at her.

"Fox. _Fox_ ," she said insistently.

"What is it?"

"They're boarding first class now," she said patiently. Please, oh, please don't let him embarrass her. . . .

"I know," he said with a smile, and pulled her gently forward. Her mouth dropped open but he simply twinkled at her and handed the two first-class tickets to the stewardess. Stunned, she followed him as they were waved on down the ramp.

"Fox," she began as they walked hand-in-hand toward the plane.

"I had a whole lot of frequent-flyer miles, Dana," he explained. "And besides. After all those redeyes in puddle-jumpers I thought we deserved a little luxury."

"Fox." He looked down at her. "We don't get frequent-flyer miles on government flights." He nodded, admitting that she was right. "You couldn't possibly have had enough frequent-flyer miles for an extra pack of peanuts, much less. . . ."

"So what?" he shrugged. "We're saving all of my rent and, since it seems I need to keep reminding you, we are rich. Let me pamper you a little now and then." His voice was firm but his eyes sparkled and smiled at her.

"Okay," she finally agreed, and then his lips smiled as well.

She felt a little nervous stopping in the front cabin where there were only two seats -- huge seats -- on either side of the aisle. Leather seats, she noticed in shock. With plenty of leg room, she mentally added, eyeing her husband's long legs with a smirk. He gave her the window seat and leaned up to put their carry-ons in the overhead bin as she got herself settled. She sank down into the soft leather with a sigh. As small as she was even she found airplane seats uncomfortable. But this -- this was heavenly! Even more comfortable than their recliner at home. The recliner in which, of course, she rarely ever got to sit anymore. Fox settled down next to her and took her hand with a smile. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a steward who came to hover over Mulder's shoulder.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asked. Fox looked over at her.

"Just -- some hot tea for now," she said. He nodded. The steward made a mental note but paused before hurrying off again.

"On your honeymoon?" he asked with a half-smile, his eyes flitting over the pair. Dana opened her mouth to demur but Fox beat her to it.

"Yes," he said with a smile, curling his hand more tightly around hers. The steward allowed his gaze to drift over her hair and face again and she blushed slightly, seeing the frank admiration in his eyes and the look of envy and approval he gave Mulder before smiling again. "So -- maybe some champagne later?" Fox asked her, and she nodded. The steward nodded as well and disappeared.

"Fox, he thinks we're newlyweds," she rebuked him when they were alone again.

"So what?" he asked. "I feel like one -- and we haven't been married very long -- and this is a honeymoon of sorts, although," he said softly, "I wish we were going overseas under any other circumstances. I'm sorry, sweetheart -- I hope we find Gran in better health."

She nodded. "Me, too." The steward returned with their drinks just as the first wave of coach passengers began to board, and smiled at her again. For the first time in her life she felt the scrutiny and envy of others' eyes as they passed her on the way back to their narrow cloth seats beyond the curtain. More than once she squirmed uncomfortably as a passenger raked his or her eyes over the two of them knowingly or a man -- on his own or with a woman -- allowed his eyes to light up when she met his gaze, smiled at her, and gave her husband an implied "thumbs-up." She was not used to strange men -- many men at all -- flirting with her. Fox, however, seemed to be enjoying himself, and leaned over and kissed her in full view of one man who allowed his eyes to linger too long.

"Enjoying the attention?" he whispered into her hair.

"No," she mumbled.

"You should be," he said quietly. "You're the most beautiful woman on this plane. They're just acknowledging that fact."

"What they're acknowledging, Fox, is that we are in First Class and they have to sit in coach," she said, but her voice didn't sound convinced.

He laughed a little and shook his head. "The men are noticing how lovely you are and how lucky I am. The women are looking daggers at you, wondering if that could possibly be your real hair color. Shall I tell them it is?" he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

She blushed slightly but sat a little straighter and the next time a male passenger smiled at her she smiled back. The woman directly in front of him, evidently his wife, stepped back on his foot, causing him to yelp faintly and avert his gaze. Fox snickered.

"I don't mind their looking, but you're all mine," he whispered and she leaned over to kiss him, this time.

"Always," she whispered back.

<hr>

The takeoff was uneventful, although she usually found it rather startling to get up to what seemed an impossible speed and then the sickening lurch as the plane left terra firma. For years she had listened to a Mozart cassette to calm her jumpy stomach, but now she had Fox's hand to hold. If he thought she clutched it just a little hard there at the beginning he didn't let on, only grasped her hand tightly in his and smiled reassuringly at her.

Once in the air, as always, she relaxed, and turned to look out the window. Mulder leaned over her and they watched the sea drift by beneath them. Flying over the ocean was never as interesting as flying over land, because there were few features to the seemingly smooth water below. Now and then, however, they caught the dot of an island and once Fox swore he saw a ship. Before long they settled back and turned their attention to the other passengers in the cabin. Businessmen and women, mostly, with laptop computers that they plugged into outlets on the seatbacks in front of them. She shook her head.

"What?" he asked.

"Just -- seems like such a waste," she said. "All this luxury," here she traced the pattern in the grain of the leather seat beside her right thigh," and they don't even take the time to enjoy it."

He shrugged. "I guess they've come to expect it."

She sighed. "I just keep thinking about some of those flights we've made -- all the times we had to rush back without even a halfway decent night's sleep, and how much a comfortable seat on the plane would have meant to us." On some of those redeye flights when the cabin had been mostly empty they had taken the opportunity to stretch out across the vacant seats and snatch a few minutes' sleep.

He nodded. "A pleasure all the greater for being deferred," he agreed, and she smiled.

The intercom crackled slightly and then a soft voice intoned that the in-flight movie would be showing soon, and that headphones were available for anyone who wanted them. She flipped open the airplane magazine and showed him the day's selection: _The Mask_. Neither of them had seen it, and she knew only that it was a comedy. He shrugged and flagged down the stewardess and told her they would take two sets of headphones.

Before long the movie started. She glanced around. The suits were all busy tapping away at their keyboards. She shrugged. Well, at any other time she would be as well, no doubt.

They watched in silence for awhile. The plot was somewhat predictable: shy geek allows the world to step on him but at night has visions of the things he could have said and done had he had the courage. Geek plays hero, attempting to save drowning man. Geek discovers bridge jumper was actually a mask and bemoans his continual mistakes and inability to fit into the world. As experiment geek tries on mask and VOILA! Geek becomes ultra-cool, ultra-hip Mask, the object of attraction and envy and attention, for the first time in his life. The mask does not really change his personality, it simply gives him something behind which to hide so that he has the courage to be himself. Some of the actor's very mobile facial expressions were kind of funny, and she smiled, then turned to Mulder, who sat next to her, still holding her hand.

He stared at the screen, transfixed, his eyes wide and his lips curved into a grin. He was loving this.

And then she considered. Shy geek, smart and cute but the object of ridicule -- it wasn't such a stretch.

Maybe the X-Files were Mulder's mask, his opportunity to shine in his own unique, if somewhat bizarre, way. He did what nobody else could -- or would want to -- do. She squeezed his hand and he turned away from the screen to look down at her. "I love you," she mouthed, and he smiled and squeezed her hand back. She sighed and leaned her head against his shoulder and he kissed the top of her head and they went back to watching the movie.

When the dog got the mask Mulder laughed out loud and before she could catch herself, Dana chuckled. She glanced around and saw several of the suits glaring at them. Fox looked an apology at her but said nothing and went back to watching, snickering into his hand. She looked over at the businessman seated across the aisle from them and smiled, then shrugged.

"Live a little," she said. He stared at her for another long moment, then sighed and smiled wryly, indicating his computer. She laughed silently and nodded back to show she understood, then turned her attention back to the movie.

When she looked back over five minutes later the suit had loosened his tie and was wearing a set of headphones, grinning at the movie screen. She smiled. Maybe people weren't so different from one another, after all.

* * *

Dinner came -- filet mignon. And it was _excellent_ \-- she couldn't believe it. Prime steak on an airplane? Mulder grinned and told her that if she couldn't finish hers he would help her. She elbowed him and savored the fresh sauteed mushrooms.

They drank coffee with their dessert, enjoying every bite.

"You may have spoilt me for second class, Fox," she mumbled around a bite of strawberries.

He smiled and leaned over and wiped a smudge of whipped cream from her lower lip and licked it off his fingers. "You don't belong in second class." She said nothing but smiled back, stars in her eyes. She loved him so much -- she always did -- but sometimes, when he came out with a comment like that, she thought she would burst with her love for him.

* * *

They sat for a long time, talking quietly, and then Mulder motioned to the waiter again, and ordered champagne. When he brought it it was perfectly chilled and accompanied by two crystal flutes. Mulder poured them each a glass and toasted her.

"To us," he said simply. She smiled.

"To us." They clinked and drank.

They drank almost the whole bottle over the next hour or so. It was probably due to the unaccustomed alcoholic influence that she began to get ideas she would never have had otherwise. Or at least she never would have shared them. "Fox," she stage whispered.

"Hmmm?" he whispered back, a little buzzed himself.

"There's a bathroom up there," she said, nodding to the front of the cabin.

"Yeah -- so?" Of course there was. They had both used it earlier, after several cups of hot tea and then iced tea with dinner and then coffee and the first glass of champagne.

"So . . ." she giggled, resting her palm on his upper thigh, "have you ever joined the Mile High Club?"

He stared at her, eyes wide. "Uhh -- no. You?" He winced. Of course she hadn't.

She shook her head, her movements too deliberate. "Nope. Always wanted to, though," she murmured in his ear. He shivered at the feel of her warm breath on his neck. "Wanna try it out?" she asked hopefully, her fingers squeezing his leg.

He did. He really, really did. But it wasn't a particularly good idea. Not with as few people as there were in the cabin, and the fact that all the men had noticed her earlier -- really noticed her. He thought he'd caught a few of the women checking him out as well, but it might have been his imagination.

"Umm -- no, I don't think that's a good idea, Dana," he whispered back.

"Why not?" she asked, her lips softly brushing his ear. And for just a moment he couldn't think of a single reason why not. Not a single one.

"Uhhh. Because," he said finally, grasping at the slipping threads of concentration, then ad-libbing frantically, "because -- we're in international airspace, Dana. There might be some laws. . . ." Oh, lord. She was kissing him now and his mind was slipping again. And given the mood she was in, his protestations might just serve as added impetus. he thought, but he couldn't stop himself from wrapping his arms around her and kissing her back, slowly, deeply, thoroughly.

"Besides. Everyone's still awake," he said desperately, pulling away from her.

"So?"

So. "So -- at least let's wait until they fall asleep," the rational part of his mind pleaded. The irrational part kept chanting He pushed those thoughts down. "Besides, somebody might have to use the bathroom," he pointed out.

"Oh," she said, clearly disappointed. He sighed, only half relieved, and fervently hoped that she would forget about this -- or be asleep herself -- by the time the other occupants of the cabin drifted off. At least, he kept telling himself that he hoped that she would forget it. When had she become such a wild woman? This was, after all, demure, shy little Dana Katherine Scully seated next to him, the woman who had taken him as her very first lover on their wedding night. Not that she was a prude with him -- anything but -- but _this_? He made a mental note to buy a case of champagne when they got back home and keep a bottle chilled just to see what would happen.

She sighed and moved closer to him and he curled an arm around her. He looked at the bottle of champagne. At least a glass left. Looked across the aisle. The young man -- younger even than he was -- was chewing his lip and staring at his computer screen. He felt Mulder's eyes on him and looked up. Smiled. Mulder smiled back.

"Busy night, huh?" he asked softly. The other man sighed and nodded.

"Yeah. Have a report to make in London tomorrow --" he glanced at his watch, "this evening. I'm done but still keyed up, you know?" he asked, looking at Mulder in mute inquiry.

Fox nodded. "Been there, done that, have the t-shirt. Business?"

The young man nodded. "You?"

He shook his head. "Government."

"No kidding?"

"No kidding." The businessman looked down at Dana, who was dozing with her head pillowed on her husband's chest.

"Honeymoon?" he asked with a grin.

Mulder nodded. "Of a sort. We didn't get much chance to take a real one -- she's a doctor."

"Wow. Well, congratulations, man," the businessman said with another grin. Fox had the distinct impression he was congratulating him on winning Dana as much as he was on his marriage. He considered a moment, looking at the mostly-empty champagne bottle.

"Hey. You want the rest of this?" he asked, indicating the ice bucket.

The kid's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Sure." He nodded to Dana. "I think we're going to sack out for now."

The other man retrieved the bucket and got the steward to bring him a flute. He saluted Mulder and took a sip, then grinned. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." He smiled back and turned slightly away from the aisle, curling his body around Dana's. The arm between the seats had been raised hours ago and he tucked the blanket more securely around her shoulders. Her arms slid around him and she sighed a little again, and they slept, content.

* * *

He was awakened by a light tapping on his shoulder. He blinked a few times and lifted his head to stare directly into the eyes of the young businessman from across the aisle.

"Look!" the young man said excitedly, pointing out the window. He turned his head and looked, then started upright, shaking Dana gently.

"Dana, Dana love -- wake up," he whispered. She opened her eyes groggily.

"What?"

He turned her toward the window and she stared, then gasped.

"The Northern Lights!" They sat in stunned awe for a few long moments as the lights danced across the heavens in patterns random yet lovely. God painting the sky at night.

Mulder leaned forward and intoned softly in her ear:

They call them the heavenly dancers Faery dancers in the sky I'll never forget that wonderful sight They made the heavens bright.

After another long moment the lights faded, then disappeared. The young man behind them sighed and moved away. Mulder turned.

"Hey. Thanks," he said. The other man nodded.

"Don't mention it."


	3. Chapter 3

They watched the sun rise together, then enjoyed omelettes and fresh fruit and croissants for breakfast. They talked quietly and napped a little. She seemed to have forgotten the Mile High proposition and he was, he confessed, a little disappointed. But then as time passed and they drew nearer to their destination they both became more serious. It had been -- nice, and somewhat necessary, to forget for a time the reason for their trip, just to be Fox and Dana on a romantic trip together, but the knowledge of what awaited them at their journey's end was never too far away. Now it was foremost in their minds again and they dreaded the landing of the plane, although they would be changing airlines at London and taking Aer Lingus the rest of the way.

* * *

The plane landed at Heathrow and they deplaned, bidding the young businessman farewell and good luck. He headed off for his meeting with a spring in his step and a smile on his lips, confident that his presentation would go well. The sun was shining -- amazing for London -- and he had met two nice people on his flight. He was in a good mood. Life was good.

They went through customs and had less trouble than they would have expected with their firearms, which they had checked with their bags. Of course, the cool way in which they had both flashed their badges hadn't hurt any. Mulder had detected just a flicker of interest in the officer's eyes when he looked at Mulder's i.d. He told himself it was just because of his unusual first name, but he wondered. Could this young Yard policeman know . . . naaah. Just his imagination.

He wished they had time to explore London -- there was so much he wanted to show Dana. Not all of his memories of England were unhappy ones. Perhaps on their way back they would have more time.

They waited and then boarded the Aer Lingus flight -- again, first class, although this flight was less than three hours long. Dana looked at him and he shrugged at her with a smile, wishing money made everything as simple in life as booking two first-class international tickets at the last minute. When he had first found out about his father's legacy to him he had not wanted it but had accepted the money with the intention of funding his search for Samantha if he ever left the FBI. That search was still his driving motivation at work, but now he appreciated having money because it meant he could do things for his wife. She wouldn't let him spoil her, but occasionally she indulged his desire to pamper her, and he revelled in it. Maybe someday they would come back again with no agenda to make demands on their time and dampen the mood.

This second flight was smooth and quieter. They were both wrapped in their own thoughts, the uppermost of which was the dread of what they might find when they arrived.

"Thanks for getting a flight up to Dublin," she said softly.

He nodded. "The train would have been more fun at any other time, but. . . ." She squeezed his hand in understanding and gratitude. After another brief silence she smiled. "What?"

"I've never really been on a train," she informed him. His eyes went round. "Well, when I was in Ireland before we flew right in and didn't do any travelling, and rail travel isn't exactly the method of choice in the U.S.," she said defensively.

He shook his head. "That's it. On the way back we take the train down to London." She eyed him warily and he hugged her. "It's slower and picturesque and romantic -- you'll love it," he assured her.

She nodded and said nothing, wondering how many times he and Phoebe had gone on the train together. Despite herself she felt the faint stirrings of jealousy gnaw at the pit of her stomach. But then she forced herself to relax. _She_ was with Fox now instead of Phoebe. He loved _her_ , not Phoebe. And so she had nothing, absolutely nothing to fear.

* * *

They finally touched down at Shannon Airport and picked up their rental car. Although they would have liked to take a long, leisurely drive through the countryside and stop along the way to enjoy the view, they decided they had better stick to the main road and get to Gran's as quickly as possible. She lived in County Donegal in a small village near the sea not far from the border with the six counties. The plane trip had been a lovely interlude, but their reason for being in Ireland hadn't changed. Gran was still very ill and 93 years old. There might not be much time. Sightseeing would have to wait.

"It's incredible how green everything is," Fox observed as they zipped along the highway.

"I suppose that's why they call it the Emerald Isle," she smiled.

"Think I'll get to kiss the Blarney Stone?"

"Not if I have anything to say about it," she laughed.

"Why not?" he asked her. "Doesn't everyone kiss the Blarney Stone?"

"Because they have to hold you over the side of the cliff by your legs. Then, you kiss the stone, on which, it is said, the locals have peed the night before as a joke on tourists who want to kiss the Blarney Stone."

"Oh. Well, maybe we will leave that off the itinerary," he laughed aloud, "although it doesn't sound like the worst thing I've been forced to kiss in my lifetime."

"That's gross," she replied, stifling a giggle.

They arrived around mid-afternoon and checked into a lovely romantic inn set in a building which was several hundred years old, not wanting to trouble relatives. Fox paid top dollar for a room with a private bath and a fireplace in case the evenings got chilly. Dana accused him of being wasteful, but she was grateful at the same time. Sometimes they got so busy it was difficult to find time alone, and they liked their privacy, particularly at bed time. The last time they had stayed at such a lovely place had been on Martha's Vineyard, but the circumstances had been such that there had been no joy in it. Although their reason for coming to Ireland was also laced with sadness, secretly both were hopeful that there would be happiness here as well. They could both feel the pull and the romance of the old world.

Everyone met at Gran's lovely old thatched cottage. It was really only three rooms with an extra sleeping loft but had a wonderful huge old fashioned country kitchen where the large clan could gather around her old pine table, and when the windows were open and the breeze was right, you could hear the sounds of the sea. The entire family was waiting.

Dana hugged her mother and greeted Skinner, noting that her mom absolutely glowed. Shelagh and Siobhan were there with their husbands Danny and Conor.

"And this is mom's sister, Mairead, but we just call her Aunt Mary, and her husband, my Uncle Barry," smiled Dana. "My husband, Fox, who prefers to be called Mulder."

"Aye, and you can just call him Wolf," said a voice from the doorway. Gran still stood ramrod straight although she was pale, and one could see that she had grown weaker. Fox went to her and gave her a hug, and then he helped her into the room for Dana to greet.

"You look well, Dana Kate," smiled the old woman brushing her hand through her granddaughter's's hair.

"It's so good to see you, Gran," said Dana hugging her.

"Aye, and it's good to see you too. Come on now, Wolf, and I'll show you what you need to be shown."

"Absolutely not, Mother," said Mairead with exasperation. "You cannot go running about the cliffs. We have been arguing about this all week. Fox and Dana can walk near the cliffs themselves. You tell them where they need to go."

"Mary's right," said Margaret, "Now you sit down and rest, mother, and stop being a pest. Besides, they just arrived, and I want to see my daughter and son."

"Well, I'm outnumbered . . . for now . . ." said the old woman, sitting down, but she caught Fox's eye and winked. "Now I'll have some tea with my grandchildren while we are waiting for dinner."

Siobhan was pregnant and looked nearly ready to deliver. Shelagh went into the bedroom and brought out a newborn baby.

"Oh, my, Shelagh, he's lovely," said Dana taking him. He was only four weeks old. "What did you name him?"

"Eamon Michael," she said, "He's a good lad."

"Like his dad," grinned Conor.

"Look, Fox, isn't he gorgeous?" asked Dana. Fox looked at her, concerned, but seeing that she seemed to be handling it all right, he agreed that Eamon was indeed gorgeous. Dana handed him the infant.

"I don't think I've ever held anything this little," he said as Mairead poured the tea. He gazed down at the little creature somewhat awed. Eamon Michael was a part of his extended family now. It seemed so incredible that all these people had fallen within his sphere. It seemed even more amazing that they would so calmly hand him one of their infants, as though he dealt with babies everyday, as though he were expected to love it immediately. How very unlike his own family had been. He had never been permitted to touch the infant Samantha, and when he went near the twins he had seen the fear in his mother's eyes. What had happened to the lonely man that he had once been? He looked at Shelagh and smiled. "Always glad to have more in the family, Shelagh," he told her.

"Aye," said Siobhan with a wicked grin. "That's a good thing too because I'm having twins."

"It seems like everyone is having a baby except me," sighed Dana taking back the baby boy and cuddling him on her shoulder. She was happy for her cousins and her sister, and fought the sadness with determination. "And now you with two for the price of one." She did smile for her cousin. Twins explained her unwieldy size. They would probably be good sized babies too.

"Now don't you be worryin' your pretty head about that, Dana Kate," said Gran gently squeezing her wrist. "It took me a year to get pregnant with my Brendan. When God is ready, nothing will stop it. And didn't I tell you a long time ago that Wolf here would sire some beautiful children on you? I was right about his marryin' you and it wouldn't surprise me if you went home from this lovely land of ours in the family way."

Dana smiled at her grandmother. What could she say? She certainly couldn't discuss her fears about what had happened during her abduction. Besides, if anyone could foretell the future, it was Gran. Gran always knew how to make her feel better. She felt a pang knowing that her grandmother would be gone soon, never to make her feel better again, but the baby felt so good lying against her that she forced it away. She remembered how it had felt for those few short, wonderful weeks when she had been carrying Fox's child, knowing that somehow she was more important than herself because his baby -- their baby -- was growing inside her. Knowing that with every breath she took she was breathing for two -- until that awful day. . . . She blinked back the tears and smiled down at the baby who was now blinking at her. She never saw her husband's look of sorrow as he watched them or the look he exchanged with her mother. They knew of her fears because they shared them, just as they shared her prayers that her apprehensions would be unfounded and that there would soon be a little Mulder to swell the ranks of the McBride clan.

* * *

Dinner was a raucous affair filled with laughter and off-color jokes, Gran's stew and fresh milk and beer. In deference to Mulder and Skinner they spoke English, but occasionally they would lapse into the old language, a tradition that Gran had been determined to keep alive. Then there would be gales of laughter, and much to Fox's surprise, Dana seemed to understand it. He and Skinner exchanged glances. These Scully women were full of surprises. Sometimes they would translate and other times it would be explained that it was one of those things that lost something in the attempt. All in all, everyone had a wonderful time. Skinner asked her why it wasn't in her personnel file that she understood Gaelic, and Dana informed him that it was because she didn't want the FBI involving her in the "troubles" somehow. Now that the cat was out of the bag, however, she supposed they would one way or another. To her surprise, he nodded with understanding.

When dinner had been eaten, the men retired into the living room in rather traditional fashion. Fox looked at his wife, but she indicated that he should go. It was their way here, and it would give her a chance to talk to her female relatives.

"There is a new show on the telly from America," explained Uncle Barry. " _UFO Chasers_. It's about this strange FBI fellow who chases aliens with his female partner."

"We've seen it," said Skinner with a dry chuckle. He was enjoying the company of his wife's male relatives more than he had expected to. It was good to be away from work, good not having to watch your back every moment, and wonderful not to sleep alone every night. He was a happy man. He supposed Cancerman had something in the works to aggravate him when he got back, but for now, he was relaxed.

"It's a great show, lads," said Conor.

"That Agent Selkirk . . . she's all woman" smirked Danny.

So, while the women washed the dishes, the guys sat around and drank Irish whiskey and waited for _UFO Chasers_ to appear on screen. By the time it did so, they all had a nice buzz on. The sounds from the living room grew louder as the women worked in the kitchen.

Agent Selkirk, a blonde bimbo in a low cut blouse and miniskirt, appeared on screen. Mulder and Skinner simultaneously burst into laughter.

"Hey, Mulder," choked Skinner, "How come your partner doesn't have a pair of hooters like that?"

Mulder punched his boss good naturedly in the arm. "Because she takes after her mother," he replied, unable to contain his rather drunken laughter.

"Oh, yeah, and does she have a heart-shaped mole on her. . . ?"

"That she does. . . ."

The two men found this uproariously funny, their former reserve forgotten in the face of the whiskey onslaught.

"Aye, lads, all the McBride women have it," laughed Barry, "and I know because I've changed diapers on enough of them to last a life time!"

Dana had gone to see what all the fun was about, and when she heard the remarks, she was sorely tempted to go in and give them all a lecture, but it was so good to see Fox relaxed and laughing, acting like a normal guy with other guys, that she decided against it. She merely smiled. She knew he liked her "hooters" and moles just fine. Let him be a little sexist for once. It wouldn't kill her to ignore it.

"What are they doing in there?" asked Margaret.

"Watching TV, getting drunk and comparing our breast sizes and private moles," said Dana dryly.

Margaret burst out laughing. "Well, I hope they don't start comparing other privates because I've had six kids and it wouldn't be fair."

"Mother!" exclaimed Dana.

"Aye and they're being men," said Siobhan, giggling herself. She then went on to initiate a discussion of male anatomy which put Mulder, Skinner and the others to shame and led Dana to believe that she had gotten an excellent deal in the man she married, although she kept her own council in that regard.

"I've never met a McBride woman with a decent sized. . . ." began Conor but stopped when Agent Selkirk caught up with the perp she had been chasing. She stood directly in front of a puddle of ooze. She spread her high heeled mini skirted legs apart and pulled her pistol bending forward in her low cut business suit so that the audience could get a proper view.

"Stop or I'll shoot," she called to the perp.

"Ten shillings says she goes down chest first . . ." said Barry.

"No, women know how to show them off without falling. . . ."

Selkirk fired her gun and fell face first in the ooze.

"Pay up lads."

"She was pushed by an invisible alien," said Skinner.

"I didn't see any alien," replied Danny.

"If you had seen it, it wouldn't be invisible," laughed Fox. "Besides, Reticulans can do that, you know. They can make themselves invisible."

"You're all fools and you don't want to pay," said Barry, exasperated and quite tipsy. "A fine lot all of you are. . . ."

The men got out their wallets and counted shillings, while Agent Weird Winters came to Agent Selkirk's rescue, scooping ooze out of the front of her blouse in a most gentlemanly fashion.

* * *

Dana snatched his car keys. "There is no way you are driving back to the inn tonight," she informed him.

"I'm okay . . . I can drive just fine. . . . I'm not . . . I'm not. . . . Wally, what am I not?"

"You aren't drunk. That's what you're not. Isn't that right . . . what. . . . Margaret . . . that's right, Margaret . . . we aren't drunk. . . ."

"Sure," said Meg, "And my name isn't Margaret Skinner. To bed with you, Walt." She grabbed his ear like a 10 year old and hauled him into the cottage. Fox watched them go.

"Hey, Wally," he called, swaying on his feet. "That's another thing about McBride women, you know -- always dragging you to bed. . . ." He turned and found Scully watching him, her hands on her hips. "Oops."

She shook her head at him.

"Hey, ShortStuff -- I ever tell you you're really sexy when you're mad?"

She sighed and shoved him towards the car. " _What_ am I going to do with you?"

"Are you taking sug . . . sug . . . I have a few ideas." He tried to leer at her but only succeeded in looking very drunk and a little sick.

"Yeah, right. And have you throw up all over me? I don't think so." She unceremoniously dumped Fox in the front of the car and walked around to the other side to drive them to the hotel.

He was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow, smelling rather like a still and snoring like a buzzsaw. She looked down at him and smiled. She supposed she ought to be annoyed with him, but she didn't have the heart. He'd had such a wonderful time. She didn't think she had ever heard him laugh that much. There had been no one to make fun of him, or call him "Spooky." They had all just accepted him as the latest addition to the family, and that felt nice. She got into bed and was asleep herself in no time in spite of the snoring.

* * *

"Fox, it's time to get up. . . . Fox, it's time for church."

Mulder rolled over and moaned. His mouth tasted like an army had marched through it, and his head was pounding.

"I'm a heathen. I don't go to church," he murmured, putting the pillow over his head.

"Here, you do," his wife informed him in no uncertain terms, snatching the pillow and whacking him with it. "The whole family goes. Now GET up."

"Okay, okay. . . . Jeez. . . ." He sat up slowly and then made a quick run for the bathroom. Tomato juice, three aspirin and about a gallon of coffee later, the two of them were ready and after a short drive appeared outside the lovely old church.

Although his head felt as though Wile E. Coyote were chasing Road Runner around in it, Fox found himself very taken by the atmosphere. The church was very, very old -- he could feel its age in the air. And yet it did not give him a sense of decay; rather, this seemed to be a place of great wisdom. He had not been to a church service in a long time, but he enjoyed this one. There was such a sense of tradition here, of peace and tranquility and history. It was another McBride family tradition and he welcomed it as he had the others.

Around the perimeter of the church the ancient statues of the saints watched over them, and other figures gleamed in the stained glass windows. One in particular caught his attention -- an elaborate rendering above the altar of the lion lying down with the lamb, beneath a figure of Christ. It seemed strangely ludicrous to him that in this country that was so torn by religious dissention the people would continue to look to the Church to bring them back together. Then again, nothing else had been able to do so; perhaps someday that picture would become reality.

Dana whispered to him that the service was a High Mass and then she was silent except when she recited the responses with the rest of the congregation. He simply listened and watched in fascination as the procession of altar boys and three priests dressed in elaborate robes made their way down the aisle to the strains of the organ. The thick stone walls gave the church wonderful acoustics and swelled the organ and choir until it sounded like a cathedral. The smell of incense assailed his nostrils as the church grew smoky. Although he didn't know the responses and was unsure of the propriety of saying them, anyway, he did follow the others as they knelt, sat, and stood.

Then suddenly as he knelt half listening to the priest chanting the prayers that Catholics believed turned bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ, his eyes came to rest on the Madonna and Child. She had a lovely face, a face he thought was not unlike Dana's, carved perhaps by an Irish artist. In her arms she held a chubby baby. She gazed at her son in adoration as the infant looked out over the world with a wisdom beyond his years. Something about the face, the lighting, the smell of the incense, the chanting, moved a part of his soul, and Fox remembered with a pang the promise he had made to Dana's father, that he would marry his daughter in the Church. Before he realized it, the Mass had ended. The priest had told them to go in peace, but he knew he would not -- not until he kept his promise. He had been given another mission. He was going to marry his wife in this church, and he would not be content until he had done so. A plan began forming in his mind.

* * *

"I'll talk to Father Flynn, Wolf," whispered Gran. Fox smiled at her. "And don't you worry, lad, we'll sneak away to those cliffs yet."

Dana came into the room. "And what are my two favorite people conspiring about?" she asked, smiling at them.

"Nothing, lass. Why don't the two of you take a long stroll by the sea. 'Tis a lovely day. Come back for tea later."

"Okay, Gran. This is like a honeymoon for us. We didn't really get a chance to have one before."

"Did you have a bed?"

"Of course."

"Did you do what you were supposed to do in it?"

"You better believe it," laughed Fox. "She liked it, too."

"Then you had your honeymoon," cackled the old woman, "and don't try to deny that you enjoyed it yourself, Wolf." He grinned at her. He had. He most definitely had. That wonderful, incredible week with his beautiful Dana in the queen bed of of her -- now their -- apartment had been everything he wanted. But he still regretted not giving his wife the wedding of her dreams, with a priest and a church and flowers and friends and family gathered around and a beautiful white dress. Unlike most of the women in her family she had truly deserved to wear the white dress, and he felt he had cheated her out of that. Well, with Gran's help -- and Father's Flynn's -- he was going to fix that. Better late than never.

Hand in hand, the young lovers left the cottage.

"I'm starved," announced Dana. "Let's go to the pub for some lunch and then walk along near the cliffs."

"Sounds great, my 'wild Irish rose'," he said, slipping an arm around her waist.

It was a lovely long walk. Fox actually played tourist and took pictures. They stopped someone and asked them to take a picture of the two of them together. Then they walked some more, stopping now and again to admire some scenery and to kiss.

"Oh, I like that, Spook," she murmured as they embraced. "Sometimes it's kind of fun just to kiss, you know, like before we got married, when a certain person I know wouldn't do anything more."

"Well, think of it this way, love. You'll always respect me." He looked at her with that impish grin.

She threw her head back and laughed. "Right, and next you'll be telling methat you were a virgin."

"Well, I was . . . until I met Phoebe. . . ." This time they laughed together, the kind that comes from being comfortable and secure. It didn't even hurt him to mention that name anymore. Bit by bit his incredible wife was exorcising all of his old demons.

By the time they got back to the cottage for tea, it had started to rain, and they were dripping wet and laughing as they entered the door.

Margaret smiled. It was good to see her daughter and Fox so happy. She sent them to the fire to dry off. Gran grinned wickedly at Fox and winked. Mulder saw Skinner sitting in the easy chair dressed in an Irish wool sweater and started to laugh.

"Something funny, Mulder?" he inquired.

"I don't know, Wally. Somehow you still manage to look like the Lord of the Manor, " chuckled Fox.

"And somehow, you always manage to look as though you had just been hit by a cyclone, 'Spooky'," Skinner retorted good naturedly. Two could play "Aggravation."

"That's enough bickering, you two," admonished Margaret, "or you both know what you won't get tonight."

Dana thought, but she simply nodded.

"Ooops," both men replied simultaneously and then laughed as Gran cackled, until she started to cough, reminding them how weak she really was growing.

* * *

Fox had never really talked to a priest before and he was nervous. It was silly, really. A priest was just a man, but in this case he was a man who could mean the difference between keeping a promise or not. He had to try. Somehow when he was ushered into the study he felt like a small boy sent to the headmaster. Gran had whispered that Father Flynn was amiable, but she had needed to speak to him first.

"Uh . . . good morning, Father -- Sir. . . ."

"Top o' the mornin to you, Mr. Mulder. Sit down."

"Thank you, Sir." Mulder sat at the edge of the chair.

To his surprise, two glasses appeared with a bottle of Irish Mist. He hated Irish Mist. One glass made him drunk. He didn't need to be drunk again.

"Now, tis a wee bit early, lad," said Father Flynn, "but when the widow McBride tells me that a Mulder wants to marry her last granddaughter in the Catholic Church, it seems to me to be a cause for celebration."

Fox didn't entirely understand, but he didn't argue either. He assumed Gran knew what she was about. A glass was handed to him.

"Slante," said Father Flynn. He downed half the glass in one gulp.

"To your health, Sir. . . ." Fox took a sip.

"No, lad, you've got to drink better than that. Now, will you raise the children Catholic?"

"I have no objection to that."

"It isn't often one finds such respect for the dead. Bill Scully was a fine man, a good father . . ." he took another drink. "Those girls of his . . . drink up lad . . . there now, have a wee bit more . . . what was I saying?"

"Those girls?"

"All those redheads . . . such tempers . . . and such mischief . . . Sinead, Siobhan, Shelagh, Melissa, Dana . . . all like their grandmother. Is that Melissa still in another world?"

Fox threw his head back and brayed. "That she is," he laughed. "One of her own making."

"And Dana, still the skeptic?"

"Sort of. . . ."

"The pagan and the skeptic those two. When Dana was a little girl, I was speaking to her about the miracle of the Mass, about how the bread and wine are turned into the body and blood of the Savior, and do you know what she said to me, lad?"

"What?"

"That she didn't know that miracles were so easy to come by."

"That's my Dana . . ." he laughed, trying to picture her as a child. The stories this man could probably tell about his wife. . . . And the Irish Mist was going down much more easily now. He debated briefly discussing the boy Kevin with Father Flynn but decided against it. The priest might be annoyed with him for not believing.

"You love her very much, don't you, lad?"

"Yes," he said, turning serious, "I love her more than anything."

Father Flynn noticed a look of deep sadness cross the young man's face for an instant. Mary Elizabeth had said there was something special about this young man, something haunted, and her old friend could see it.

"What is it, lad?"

"Nothing, Father. I'll just feel a lot better when I've kept my promise to her dad. . . ."

Father Flynn could not resist the temptation to pour just a "wee" bit more into the empty glasses, filling them to the top. There was something likable about this young man.

"I'll read the banns starting tomorrow. We'll have the wedding on Saturday at 10 AM. I'm bending the rules a bit here, but under the circumstances, it is the best thing to do. Now, did you ever hear the joke about. . . ."

* * *

Fox wove his way along the path bellowing "When Irish Eyes are Smiling" and "It's a Long Way to Tipperary" at the top of his lungs. His legs felt rather like rubber bands, but he was happy. A familiar face came along. "Who the . . . not Cancerman . . . no . . . one of Barry's farm hands . . . yes . . . family. . . ."

"Well, looks like ye've started yer drinkin' a wee bit early," chuckled the man, slipping an arm under Fox's. "Come along now. I'll lead you home."

_OH PADDY WROTE A LETTER TO HIS IRISH MOLLY-O SAID IF YOU DON'T RECEIVE IT WON'T YOU WRITE AND LET ME KNOW AND IF THERE IS A MISTAKE IN SPELLING MOLLY DEAR SAID HE REMEMBER TIS THE PEN GONE BAD, DON'T THROW THE BLAME ON ME OH IT'S A LONG WAY TO TIPPARARY. . . ._

Dana opened the door. She had heard him bellowing all the way up the walk.

"Fox Mulder, where the hell have you been?"

"Started tipplin' a wee bit early, Mrs. Mulder."

"Well, thank you for bringing him back. . . ." She dragged him inside. In the background she heard Gran laughing.

"Hey, Thcully," he said, "thith guy was out walking and found a funny looking little crea . . . crea . . . ani . . . ani . . . thing."

"Come on, Mulder. You are going to bed. . . ."

"Animal. . . . It wasth called a Rary. . . . He takeths it home Thcully . . . you know, kind of like how you took home that damn dog. . . ."

"Bed, Mulder...." She led him towards Gran's room. He would never make it to the loft.

"But it eaths and eaths and eaths and hith wife geths mad and telths him to get rid of it. He likthes the Rary, but you know how women are and she nagths and nagths . . . jush like you do when you're gonna get your period and want the houth clean . . . tho he takth it on a long walk to the top of a mountain. When they get there he starths to push it over the edge . . . and do you know what it sayth Thcully . . . do ya . . . do ya. . . ."

"No, Mulder, and I don't care to . . ." she had nearly gotten him to lie down.

"It sayth . . . it sayth . . . pleasth don't. Pleasth. . . . It'th a long way to tip a Rary. . . ."

"Oh, God," she moaned, shoving him down on the bed as he laughed hysterically. "Go to sleep, Mulder."

"Can't, gotta pee. . . . It's a long way to tip a Rary. . . ."

She hauled him to the bathroom.

"Watch where you are aiming, Mulder. . . ."

"Can't . . . do it for me. . . ."

"No way, not even for you." She finally got him to bed. He pulled her down on top of him not even certain where he was.

"Let'th do it, babe. . . ."

"Not now, Mulder," she replied, trying to get away.

"You have to . . . we have to make . . . what ith it we have to make . . . oh, yeah . . . we have to make a Rary. . . ." He passed out. Dana sighed with relief, pulled the comforter over him and left the room quickly. "He told the Rary joke did he?" asked Gran, laughing.

"Yes, Gran. . . ."

"Then everything will be okay, lass," she said enigmatically, "after he gets over the hangover. . . ."

Dana opened her mouth to ask and then, upon consideration, decided that she might not want to know after all.


	4. Chapter 4

"How do I look?" asked Dana, putting the finishing touches on her lipstick before they went to meet the others in the dining room downstairs for dinner the next day. Fox had insisted upon taking the entire family to the wonderful restaurant at the inn that night.

"Are you flirting with me, little lady?" he asked, coming up behind her and kissing her neck. "You know you look beautiful."

"Well, if you don't want me to flirt with you, I'll have to find someone else to flirt with," she smiled. She turned around to look at him. He looked almost all right again after their long soak in the bathtub . . . _almost_ . . . although she swore he was still just a wee bit "green around the gills."

"Don't you dare," he admonished. "If you are a very good girl, when we get home tonight, I might just help you make that Rary. . . ."

"A _good_ girl?"

"Good girl, bad girl -- just keep flirting with me like that and you'll find out what happens."

She laughed aloud. "Come on, Spookster, let's go."

She was grateful that Fox had been enjoying himself on this trip, but she was concerned that it had been because he always seemed to be a little tipsy. Her relatives were good at heart, but they weren't used to men who weren't used to drinking prodigious amounts of alcohol on occasion. It didn't take very much to affect her, and she had learned that it didn't take very much to get to her husband, either. Well, tonight, at least, she vowed, he was _not_ going to get tipsy.

Dinner was for the most part a very pleasant affair. There was a difficult moment when the waiter asked for drink orders and, remembering her earlier vow, Dana forgot herself and announced that Fox would have a coke. She knew as soon as the words left her lips that she had made a mistake, but before she could apologize he announced that he would have a whiskey like the rest of the guys. He glared at her and everyone else watched them covertly for a moment. She could feel their eyes on her as she bit her lip and said nothing. In an attempt to defuse the tension she excused herself to make an unnecessary trip to the ladies' room. She noticed with relief, however, that Fox did not drink the whiskey. Her uncle Barry, who was seated on his left, picked up the small glass and drained it during one of their many toasts and returned it, unnoticed, to its place in front of Fox. She felt a rush of warmth for her uncle, who had instinctively read the situation and had taken this action so that neither she nor his newest nephew would be embarrassed.

The meal was filled with love and laughter. Dana was a bit alarmed, however, because she had had the feeling all day that everyone was whispering about her, and the sensation continued over dinner. she told herself.

When the meal was over, Aunt Mary announced they were all going back to her house for dessert, no arguments, and so they rose as a group and left. Once again she had the sense that this was no impulsive move. They had discussed this beforehand without her -- but why?

She soon found out. Her cousins dragged her off to one of the bedrooms at the back of the house and closed the door, mischief lurking in every corner of their faces.

"What is this, Siobhan?" asked Dana looking at the white dress. Shelagh was already unzipping her dress.

"It's my wedding gown, Dana . . . and now it's yours!" explained her cousin.

"But I don't need a wedding gown. . . ."

"Yes, you do, Dana. You are getting married!" said Shelagh. "How I wish Sinead was here."

"I'm already married," she protested.

"But you're not married in the Church, and you will be next Saturday at 10 AM. Fox and Gran have made all the arrangements. He's even been through the drinking ritual with Father Flynn. . . . It's all settled. Mom and Aunt Meg are doing the food. . . ."

"But. . . ." She was a little angry that no one had consulted her, although now the whispering campaign was explained. She didn't care about being married in the Church. She really didn't. Despite what she had told Fo. . . .

Ah, so _that_ was it. She knew that he had made that promise to her father, the promise to marry her in a church with a white dress. He had even refused to make love to her in keeping with that promise. And then the hurried, hectic wedding in Gran's hospital room -- the Protestant minister they had called in at the last moment -- the makeshift rings. . . . He obviously still felt obligated to keep his promise. And then she remembered the fight they had had _before_ the wedding, the one in which she had urged him to set a date so they could settle everything with the priest and the caterers and the florists. . . . She had only said all of that because she had been afraid he would back out of the wedding altogether, and because she had assumed they would have a traditional wedding. Never in her wildest dreams would she have thought she would be married in a hospital by a female Protestant minister who also happened to be her stepfather's sister, and that her honeymoon would consist of their locking themselves in her -- _their_ \-- apartment for a week. Not that she minded _that_ part in the slightest, she thought with a slight smirk. In fact, she had discovered to her surprise that the circumstances surrounding the wedding had not mattered at all. She was married to the man she loved, and that was that. To her it was the marriage, not the wedding itself, that had been the fulfillment of all her hopes and dreams. And when she thought about it, the wedding had been completely in keeping with their life together. A little crazy, a lot unpredictable, and -- when it came right down to it -- just exactly right.

And now he wanted to do it over again because he thought she had been disappointed? No, that wasn't it, precisely. He wanted to do it over again because he thought her _father_ would have been disappointed. And that was exactly why Ahab would _not_ have been. He would have loved Fox. It was a shame they had only met briefly that one time just before her dad had died.

Well, at least Mulder's getting drunk in the middle of the morning had been explained. Father Flynn broke out the Irish Mist every time a prospective McBride groom came to see him. He had had a rather proprietary interest in the McBride women ever since he had found out that Gran had nearly been his mother, except that she had married her first husband instead of his father. They had also been very kind to him when his mother had died. Suddenly she realized just what it meant that Fox had gone, hat in hand (well, figuratively, anyway), to the priest to ask him to marry them in the Church so he could keep his promise to her dead father. And a wave of love greater than anything she had felt for him until now washed over her.

"Hush now. Fox loves you so much and he wants to do it. Don't go all Danaish and stubborn on us. Pull in that lip and try the dress on. . . ."

"Well. . . ." She was weakening, a small smile on her lips at the thought of Fox weaving his way home singing about the Rary.

"If you won't do it for him, foolish woman, do it for Gran. It means a lot to her," said Aunt Mary, entering the room. She had sort of timed it for the height of Dana's protest. Of all the girls, Margaret's Dana was the most stubborn in her own way; the smartest of course, the most self disciplined, but also the most difficult in a way that Aunt Mary didn't consider quite normal in comparison to the rest of the Redhead Brigade.

"Are you kidding? She was there the first time -- it was she who got me into this marriage business in the first place," Dana laughed. "Okay, let's get this fitting over with. I'm going to feel so silly. I've been married for months. . . ."

The rest of the fitting was filled with laughter and sly jokes, and Dana discovered that there had indeed been things she had missed out on during her own earlier hasty wedding. This was sweet, it was thoughtful -- it was all Fox.

* * *

By the time they left for the night Dana was in a much better mood than she had been all day. She was surrounded by family and friends who were all working together to give her a day of magic because her husband was convinced she deserved one. She loved him so much. She would definitely have to think of a special thank you for this. Perhaps on their second wedding night. . . .

She was so caught up in her own happiness that she didn't even notice his silence all the way back to the Inn. So she was shocked when, after entering their room, Fox spun and locked the door and grabbed her arm angrily.

"Don't ever do that to me again, Scully."

"What?" she asked looking up at him. His face had that dark look. He really was angry at her and she didn't even know why.

"What you did in the restaurant tonight. Don't ever embarrass me like that again."

"You're hurting my arm. . . ."

"It was a bit too reminiscent of Phoebe, okay? I'm not a drunkard, Dana. I had two glasses of Irish Mist with Father Flynn, and it made me sick. I'm a big boy, and if I want a glass of whiskey with the family I'll have it. Do you understand?"

"Yeah, well, it wasn't exactly pleasant for me, either." She looked at him angrily for a moment. "You spent the whole morning throwing up. . . ."

"Maybe, but what I had to talk to Father Flynn about was important, okay?" He let her go and turned away.

"Fox," said Dana softly moving up behind him. "I'm sorry. I didn't think . . . I didn't mean to embarrass you. Forgive me?" She thought he was overreacting, but knew if she didn't apologize it would escalate into a serious argument.

Having made his point, he turned around and looked at her again.

"I love you, Fox," she said softly. "Let's not fight."

"I love you too, Dana. Even when you aggravate me." He touched her cheek gently and sighed. "I know you didn't mean to embarrass me, but you _did_ , a little. I'm not a kid. I can make my own decisions -- I'm a grown man, and I don't want you to forget that." He loved her family but thought that maybe being around her aunts was having a negative effect on her. He had not been blind to the way they treated him. It was all right for Margaret and the aunts to do that, but not Dana. Not his wife.

"Oh, believe me, Fox -- I'm in no danger of forgetting that you're a grown man," she murmured, seeing that he was no longer angry.

He couldn't repress a grin. "Let's get ready for bed."

She grinned back, their earlier disagreement forgotten. "Okay." "Is it really okay, Dana?" Fox asked as he sat on the bed. "About the wedding, I mean?" Maybe, he thought, he had overstepped his bounds too. It couldn't have been pleasant for her dealing with him that drunk twice in one week. He didn't like it, either -- they had been a little tipsy on the plane, but that had been fun.

"It's really okay," she smiled. "I mean I wish you would have asked, but. . . ."

"But then you would have said no," he finished. He waited until she was seated on the edge of the bed, and then pulled a box from his suitcase and handed it to her.

"Will you marry me, Dana?" he asked softly, nuzzling her neck. "Again?"

"Of course I'll marry you," she whispered. "Again."

He smiled. "Well, love, you already had a ring so . . ." he opened the box to reveal a small emerald pendant to match her earrings and wedding band.

"Oh, Fox -- it's beautiful!" she said, her fingers stroking the chain. "I love it. I love _you_ \-- so much." She wrapped her arms around his neck and they fell back onto the bed. "And it's time to make that Rary. . . ." She kissed him.

"Mmm....he murmured. She tasted so good, but suddenly he couldn't keep his eyes open. He hadn't drunk the whiskey with dinner, but he _had_ drunk the decaf coffee that Barry had spiked when the women weren't looking. At least, he didn't _think_ they had been looking. Family was wonderful. Uncle Barry was great, like he wished his dad had been. And Dana. . . . How he loved his Shorts. He was drifting on a wave of relaxation, a combination of alcohol and jet lag and the aftermath of stress. And he was kissing her back and cradling her in his arms and . . . and then he was asleep.

Dana sat up and looked down at her now sound asleep husband. She tucked him in gently. When she kissed him she had tasted the whiskey.

"I guess no Rary tonight, love," she whispered with regret, brushing his hair from his face,"and if I don't get you home soon, I'm going to have to check you into the Betty Ford Clinic to dry out." She smiled. No one in her family was really a heavy drinker, and maybe that was the problem. They'd all been having a bit too much of a good time these past few days. Too much reason for celebration. Could there ever be too much reason for celebration? With a sigh she lay down and cuddled up to him. He automatically he pulled her close, and she fell asleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

It was a beautiful day with not a cloud in the sky, neither too warm nor too cold. Fox Mulder felt at peace as he walked along the quiet lane with his redhaired daughter of Eire. Dana looked as though she belonged here, he thought. Strange about the Irish. Five million in Ireland, 40,000,000 descendants worldwide, most of whom never came back. Less valued than slaves in America when they first arrived, considered a separate race by those who detested them, they had become incredibly successful. Fox found himself thinking that it must be nice to have an ethnic identity -- besides that of "American," that is. He knew little of his roots. No one ever talked about it. One thing he did know: the Mulders didn't like the Irish and they didn't like Catholics. He smiled at that. Tomorrow he would marry his redheaded Irish Catholic woman in the Catholic Church just as he had promised her father that he would. Poetic justice. Best yet, his mom and step dad would approve, and his sisters would think it ever so romantic. Speaking of sisters -- Amanda and Jennifer would be upset that they had missed his wedding. _Again_. Maybe someone would have a video camera. . . .

Dana stopped walking and looked up at him.

"Thinking deep thoughts?" she asked him. "Prenuptial jitters maybe?" she teased.

He laughed out loud. "Deep thoughts, maybe . . . but it's a little late for pre-nuptial jitters." He took her hand. "Say, Scully, that's a lovely building there. I've been meaning to ask you about it."

"Oh, that's the famous barn," she smiled.

 _The famous barn?_ The one that . . . ooooooh, show me."

"There isn't much to see -- Aunt Mary rents it out, but okay." Dana led him down the path. The McBride landholdings when combined with that of Aunt Mary's husband Barry were quite extensive. Together the couple made a good living. The barn was a bit of a distance from Gran's cottage which is probably what had made it such a popular place for lovers. Dana wondered idly if it still were. She opened the door and they were immediately assailed by the smell of horses. Manure, hay, straw . . . to her it smelled wonderful and the scent took her back years to her girlhood, to the first time she had been here. Fox stopped to pet the face of a lovely small pony.

"Samantha always wanted one of these," he said, rubbing the animal's soft nose. "She had a whole collection of little ponies in all different colors. She'd spend hours combing their manes and decorating them. She liked them more than dolls sometimes."

"I think all little girls like ponies," Dana smiled.

"Yeah . . ." he turned away. Dana led him to a tack room. It smelled like saddle soap and old leather. Hay was piled high along one wall. It smelled sweet.

Suddenly, full of mischief, all thoughts of Samantha gone, Fox grabbed his wife around the waist and pulled her down onto a pile of hay.

"Hey, how about a roll in the hay," he said, smiling at her. She looked at him. He had that gleam in his eye.

"Uh, I don't think that is such a good idea," she said, scooting away from him. "I mean, you never know who might come along and. . . ."

"Oh come on. Live dangerously." He moved a little closer again. If she had agreed promptly, he probably would have realized that the idea was rather silly -- potentially stupid, actually -- but she hadn't. That had turned it into a challenge. Never let it be said that Fox Mulder backed away from a challenge. Of course, he wasn't the kind of man who would ever try to force his wife to do anything against her will, but he had learned very quickly that he could usually change that will in regard to the more intimate aspects of their relationship, *if* he went about it the right way.

"Fox Mulder, I've been living dangerously since the day I walked into your office to spy on you," she replied drily, slipping away once again.

"Ah, so you finally admit it. . . ." His arm went around her once more. "C'mon, sweetheart, I've never done it in a barn before . . . and I know _you_ haven't. . . ."

 _Well, that was true. . . . No._ "Fox. . . ." "C'mon, Dana," he whispered in her ear, "we can make it quick. . . ." She shivered as the whisper turned into a nuzzle and the nuzzle into a kiss. She cursed her lack of willpower and did just what he knew she would, gave in, winding her arms around his neck and kissing him back passionately.

Deep down inside the rational part of her mind that was fading fast, Dana had a really bad feeling about this . . . a really really bad feeling. She lay there looking up at the ceiling -- well actually into his shoulder for she was too short to see much of the ceiling -- wondering how she had found herself in this position. Why did that crazy husband of hers have to be so damn handsome, so damn sexy and so damn convincing? She was enjoying it -- oh, yes, she always enjoyed it -- but at the same time she had a deep sense of foreboding as if the roof were going to fall in on them.

Dana closed her eyes as he began to caress her more ardently. Once again this "quickie" was turning into a very long moment of passion which under any other circumstances would have had her absolutely ecstatic; now, however, the fear of getting caught overwhelmed her physical and emotional reactions to his lovemaking. The only one heading toward ecstasy here was her husband, and damn the man, he wasn't being quiet about it. Suddenly there was a high pitched shriek followed by a bellow of rage from Fox as he was pulled off of her and tossed aside like a used Kleenex. Dana opened terrified eyes and pulled her skirt down at the speed of light expecting to see God only knew what. When it concerned Fox, you never knew if it would be giant bugs, aliens, mutants . . . whatever. . . .

It was quite a sight that assailed them. The woman must have weighed at least 250 lbs. and couldn't have stood more that 5'3". Her oily hair was prematurely grey, her face, which even now retained traces of a former beauty, ravaged by a hard life. On her hip sat a filthy toddler of an indeterminant sex. It grabbed at her breast and squeezed, and she slapped its hand away.

Fox lay there staring. He hadn't liked the long flannel shirt that Dana had bought him, but now he was glad he was wearing it. It was hiding part of his anatomy that he preferred to keep covered, not that he thought this creature would be impressed. He blinked. He was so stunned he couldn't move. So was Dana. It occurred to him that if this vision of feminine loveliness didn't kill him, Dana probably would. His life was over, and he hadn't found Sam yet. Why the hell did he never learn to listen to his wife's gut feelings?

"Scuze it," said the woman. "Thought you were my Moira with that bastard Kevin Connelly. I'm not wantin' her to make the same mistake I did. . . ." For a moment it looked as though she might cry, but she didn't. She turned and walked away. Then she stopped at the door and looked back. "Go back to doin' what you were doin'." Her eyes rested briefly on Dana, whose face was flame red. She pointed at the baby and said "Remember, all it gets you is one of these." With that, she walked away, leaving them alone.

"Do you know her, Dana?" Fox asked curiously. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"A ghost," she echoed softly. "That was Bridget. . . . Why does it have to be that way, Fox?"

"What way?" he asked.

"I mean, it's like . . . well, a woman lies down with a man and everything changes . . . her life gets so hard. She used to be so beautiful . . . and look at her now. . . ."

"It isn't always that way, Dana, you know that. It wasn't that way for us." He bit his lip, realizing that perhaps that had _not_ been the thing to say, considering that Dana wanted to be pregnant so desperately. "Maybe she just chose the wrong man," he continued gently,"or maybe something went wrong later." He looked at her, hoping she wasn't too angry with him.

"Maybe..." Dana was thoughtful for a long moment. She was very embarrassed and a part of her was really angry at Fox for having landed her in such an undignified situation. On the other hand, it was far from the worst situation he had gotten her into. He looked so concerned. Then her mind shifted gears. There was, after all, something rather --exciting -- about making love in such a public place. And how ironic that it had been Bridget Feeney O'Boyle who had caught them. She guessed turnabout was fair play, after all. And there was something almost -- delightfully forbidden -- about rolling around in the hay with the man she was going to marry tomorrow. Forget for the moment that they were already married. . . . She had had a pretty tame adolescence. So _this_ was what it was like to be wild. . . . She looked at Fox. He had that pitiful, pleading look on his face, the one that made her think of a puppy or a little boy. And that latter thought changed her mind. Maybe the tackroom would be the site of another conception -- this time a much wanted one.

"On the other hand," she reminded him with a wicked grin, "we want one of those." She grabbed him by the front of the shirt and with surprising strength pushed him back down into the hay. "The time is right, Fox -- let's make a baby," she breathed against his lips. "This time you can stare at the ceiling."

"Jeez, be a little more subtle why don't you?" he muttered, both relieved and alarmed, trying to remember exactly where he had left off before they had been so rudely interrupted. Then he realized he didn't have to. She was remembering all too well.

* * *

They walked back to Gran's cottage. Dana had promised they would have tea with her before they returned to the Inn for the night. When they arrived, Meg and Walter were there already and Dana's Aunt Mary and cousin Shelagh. Dana winced silently. That would mean they would want her to try on the dress again, and she was tired of it already. It seemed that every free moment of the week had been spent on the dress, or how her hair would be done, or the flowers. . . . It was all they talked about. They had managed to escape one day and do some sightseeing, but as soon as they had gotten home, her cousins had started in about her hair again!

"Hi, Gran," she smiled at her grandmother.

"Hi, yourself, Dana Kate," replied the older woman.

Fox bent down and kissed her cheek. "Hello, Gran."

"Been shagging your wife in the barn I see," said the woman wickedly. "From the looks of her, I'd say you'd done a fine job, lad."

Fox turned beet red as Skinner sat in the corner trying not to laugh too loud. Meg made an exasperated sound and exchanged glances with her sister, as Shelagh covered her hand with her mouth and stifled a giggle.

"Now, Gran," said Dana, removing a wisp of hay from Fox's hair and taking his arm, "he's allowed to shag me whenever and wherever he wants, except of course in the office," she added virtuously with a glance in Skinner's direction. "And he _always_ does a good job."

"Dana!" they all burst out simultaneously. Dana just smiled softly. You certainly weren't going to cure Gran, so why not join her? Besides, they all told her she was going to turn into Gran one day, so why not start now? She suggested they have their tea, effectively ending the discussion of what she and Fox had been doing in the barn. Gran was not to be outdone, however. She saw her newest son-in-law grinning in the corner and turned her attention to him.

"I'd say you haven't been lacking in that department either, Wally," she informed him, "Don't think I didn't hear what was happening on me kitchen table early this morning." This time is was Mulder's turn to smirk.


	5. Chapter 5

The day had dawned simply beautiful. Dana had spent the night with Shelagh and her husband and the baby, not because she had wanted to do so but because they had insisted that it was "bad luck" for her to spend the night with the groom. She tried to reason with them -- she and Fox had been married for months, after all -- but all argument had failed. And the one thing they did not need was more bad luck. And somehow it was almost -- _easy_ \-- to believe in those things here, in this land of mystery and mysticism.

Oddly enough, she felt nervous this morning, as well as a bit foolish. She had not slept terribly well, alone there, in that strange bed without her husband. And then, too, she had ached to make love to him again, and the ache had been intensified simply because he wasn't _there_. And so, between the longing and the loneliness and the sheer unfamiliarity of the place, she had tossed and turned for most of the night, unconsciously seeking his warmth even as she slept. Finally at about two o'clock she had sat up in bed and laughed at herself. _This is ridiculous._ And then she fluffed up the pillows yet again and lay back down and resolutely set about going back to sleep. When Shelagh awakened her the next morning it was almost a relief, much as she usually enjoyed those precious few moments right after the alarm went off at home. But then Fox was usually there. . . .

Fox. Right. She bounded out of bed and hurried into the kitchen, wrapping a robe around her as she went. There was food and coffee on the table, but she didn't know if she could eat. Which was ridiculous. She was acting as though this were her _real_ wedding day, as though she and Fox had never. . . . She blushed a little at the thought of what they had done in the barn the previous afternoon, then smiled. Why not? Last time they had had that awful fight and neither of them had eaten for nearly twenty-four hours. And then that crazy wedding -- and then that night. . . . That incredible, glorious night. . . . She blushed again.

"Now that's the way you should be looking today," her cousin said approvingly. They had talked again before bed last night and Shelagh had tried to convince Dana to treat the morrow as a real wedding and not just some ritual to get through to appease her husband. "He's doing it for _you_ , Dana," she had insisted. "For you and for your father." Now, watching the younger woman sip her coffee, she grinned. "After all, 'tis not many brides that have the pleasure of _two_ wedding nights." Dana's face burned again but she flashed her cousin a grin, her eyes flashing. "That's better. Eat your toast."

The door opened and Siobhan waddled in. "Aye, and I'll be glad when this pair is born," she murmured, collapsing into a chair. "Dana Kate, hurry and finish eating. I have to work on your hair. . . ."

"But Fox likes my hair down," she mumbled around soda bread and jam.

"Then down it will be, and not sticking up as it is now! You look like Medusa this morning." For some reason that brought on gales of laughter breaking the tension as they all giggled uncontrollably. she thought.

* * *

Fox had missed her the night before. It wasn't something he had counted on, having her spend the night elsewhere. He never slept as well when she wasn't nearby. On the few occasions they had been separated at home by her absence he had dragged the covers into the living room and slept on the couch, unable to get comfortable in the too-empty bed with so many reminders of her surrounding him: her extra reading glasses on the nightstand, her brush lying forgotten on the dresser. Most of all, the scent of her light perfume in the sheets made him miss her all the more. Their room at the Inn, however, did not have a sofa, so he was unable to fall back into the fantasy that he was alone and stretched out on his old sofa in he old apartment. Funny -- he never wanted to go back to that time, but sometimes imagining that he had was the only way he could get through a night without her now. He realized just how much he had come to depend on her and how empty his life had been before he met her. And how much he needed her now.

It hadn't helped any that he wanted her again. Which, of course, was only natural. That she wasn't there only made it worse. And the fact that his damned imagination kept replaying images from times before and inventing new ones for his fevered brain drove him to distraction. And tomorrow was their wedding night. Forget for the moment that they were already married. An image from their first wedding night arose, unbidden, in his mind, and he growled and flung himself out of bed. He only hoped his ten-minute-long cold shower at two in the morning didn't awaken the neighbors. The only alternative was to find a car somewhere and go searching for her, and he wasn't exactly sure where she was staying. They had refused to tell him, and he wasn't certain whether that were truly a part of the tradition, as they had assured him, or if it were simply another McBride trick. She was probably at Shelagh's, but he couldn't exactly go climbing in windows unless he were positive, could he? She might be mad at him for awakening her, but she wasn't superstitious. For just a moment he regretted ever making that promise to her father. And then he shook his head. No. It had been the right thing. And in a way it made Captain Scully a part of their marriage. He toweled off and went back to bed and fell asleep to dream of a man in a white uniform nodding at him in approval.

Now he stood stock-still as Barry fixed his tie. Fox, he thought, seemed helpless that morning. He took another look at the dark circles under his eyes and grinned to himself, happy that his niece had found a man who loved her so much.

"No, Wally, it's your job to walk the lass down the aisle," he insisted. "I'll be the best man."

"But. . . ." Skinner was wondering why suddenly half the world seemed to be calling him Wally, and there didn't seem to be a damn thing he could do about it. "You're her uncle, Barry. She's known you since she was born."

"Aye, but you're her father now in Bill's absence."

"She might not want it. . . ."

Barry threw his head back and laughed uproariously. "Well, we just won't ask her what she wants then, will we? Easier to sin first and ask forgiveness later. Oh, lad, you've a lot to learn about dealing with these McBrides."

"That's okay, Barry. Wally's new," grinned Mulder.

"Mulder . . ." the Assistant Director warned. He might not be able to get Margaret's siblings to call him "Walter," but he wasn't going to stand for this "Wally" business from his least/most favorite agent. He looked at the tall man standing in front of the mirror and grinned. His step-son-in-law. And Barry had just called him "lad". . . .

* * *

Dana looked at herself in the mirror, absolutely stunned. She was beautiful, really beautiful. The white lace dress had been altered to fit her perfectly. Shelagh had done her makeup, and Sinead had woven the lace veil and yellow flowers through the natural wave of her hair.

"Aye and you look lovely," said Gran, entering the room with Margaret and Mary. "A pity Melissa can't be here to see you."

"Yes," said Dana. Margaret had tears in her eyes. She had never seen her younger daughter so beautiful before. If only Bill. . . . Mary squeezed her hand.

Gran stepped closer and turned Dana to face her, fiddling with something close to the neck of the wedding gown. "Each of my girls has gotten a piece of my jewelry. We didn't have much money, my first husband and I, but he found a way to buy me this as a wedding gift. 'Tis the least valuable, Dana love, but in some ways. . . ." She stepped back and Dana looked down. A beautiful old cameo was pinned near the vee of the gown.

"It's perfect, Gran," she said softly, hugging her. "I've always wanted one, and the fact that it comes from you makes it extra special. Believe me, Fox and I don't need money."

Gran began to cough and sat down quietly, deciding that it was best to rest until it was time to go to the church. Every one looked at her with concern. She closed her eyes for a moment and counted her blessings. Yes, she had lost a son and a beloved husband, but she had so much as well, all these daughters and granddaughters and now great- grandchildren. . . . God had been very good to her indeed in spite of past troubles. There was not a lot left for her to do on earth.

* * *

Walter Skinner stood next to her in the vestibule of the church and held out his arm. "I'd be honored, Dana, if you would let me walk you down the aisle. I know it's not the same. . . ."

Dana looked at him, a bit surprised, then took his arm. "I think Daddy would like that," she said softly. As they walked slowly down the aisle of the softly lit church to the music from the organ, Dana barely noticed how the town had turned out to see the last of the McBride granddaughters married. Her eyes were only for the man who waited so patiently beside her uncle and the priest. For a moment, she thought she felt her dad beside her telling her that it was a fine thing she was doing, and that he was so very proud of her. She looked briefly at Skinner and smiled. She had made the right decision in taking his arm.

Fox thought he had never seen anything so lovely in his life as the sight of Dana in that white dress coming toward him to seal their love and bond one final time in the eyes of God. He was glad now that he had made that promise and kept it. For an instant, he could have sworn he felt Bill at his shoulder telling him what a fine man he was, and how he was pleased that Fox had married his favorite daughter. When he looked beside him, however, it was only Barry that stood there, someone whom he had known only a week but already liked a great deal. He felt a brief pang that his own father was not there, but of course, if he had been, he would not have been proud. He would have been filled with anger. It was ironic that it was only after his death that Fox knew that his father had cared about him in his own way.

He was aware that Dana's eyes were on his, holding his gaze so confidently. He felt a slight niggling doubt. Who was he that she should be so confident in him? He had hurt her in the past, more times than he cared to remember, and yet she still loved him enough to marry him -- _again_ \-- here in the Church and country of her ancestors. He was blessed -- so blessed to have found her, to be able to love her and to have her love him. And right then and there Fox Mulder made another vow, to take care of her and make her happy. It would take some work but he would do his best. He had to, to earn the trust and love he saw shining in her eyes.If he failed her. . . .

And then Walter Skinner put Dana's hand into his and all those doubts melted away and there was nothing but calm blue. . . .

Their first wedding had been, for lack of a better word, awful. Every single interruption had burned itself into their minds with a chilling clarity: the hasty summoning of a Protestant minister, her three children's misbehavior, the medical students, the makeshift rings. The McBrides and the townspeople always swore that the wedding of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully Mulder in the small county church that day was one of the most beautiful ceremonies they had seen. Dana and Fox had to take their word for it. They couldn't remember a thing after that first look.

* * *

They hadn't actually planned a reception, just a family breakfast of sorts with a few close friends, but the day was incredibly lovely, and somehow the townspeople just kind of strayed in. Food started arriving and tables were set up. A group of older men came with instruments, and the music and dancing started. Small wedding gifts began to appear, the first oddly from Bridget, a tiny stature of the Virgin Mary. It touched both Dana and Fox deeply. Bridget looked almost prettyin her Sunday best, and her children were all lovely, including the baby, who was much more attractive cleaned up and properly clothed. Her husband seemed a kind man, but he had lost his leg -- in an accident, they were told -- and could no longer work as he had. He wished Dana and Fox the best and reminisced briefly about his own wedding day and how beautiful his Bridget had been. It brought home to the newly-married (again) Mulder once more just how fragile the good times could be and how they should be treasured. Then Jamie looked at Bridget and they saw that to him, she was still beautiful. And they knew that the love they felt for one another would make even the bad times bearable, so long as they faced them together.

Dana asked the impromptu band if they could play "If Ever You Were Mine" and swept Fox into her arms and onto the grassy area that was was being used as a dance floor. He held her close and remembered the first time they had danced together, to this very song. How long ago that seemed! And then she looked up at him with that half-shy smile and it seemed like only yesterday. After the song was over someone called for Dana to dance with her new dad and she did, while Fox danced with Margaret. She wished his mother could have been here. And then she formed a mental picture of the staid and dignified Ruth Tillot whooping it up with the irrepressible McBrides and laughed.

"What?" Walter Skinner asked, drawing away to look down at her with a smile on his face. She shook her head, unable to explain, and danced on.

Fox finally broke away from crowd briefly. He was breathless from trying to learn the reel. They made it seem so easy but it wasn't! Gran caught his eye, and he joined her. This had truly turned into the most wonderful wedding he had ever seen and it was his! He was filled with joy.

"Now, lad," she said quietly, "while they aren't looking. It's time to do what you came here for."

"Are you sure, Gran?" he asked, concerned. "You look so pale. . . ."

"It has to be now, Wolf. . . . It has to be. . . ." Her piercing blue gaze held his, so like Dana's when she was trying to convince him of something, and he understood. Looking around to make certain that no one was paying attention, he led her in the direction of the cliffs.

The old woman was breathless by the time they arrived at their destination. She stood for a long moment staring out across the sea.

"It was here," she said finally. "'Twas twighlight, and I was walking with the little one. So sweet he was, like his da. Suddenly, he got away from me as little ones will. Like lightening they are, so very fast. . . . And then, just when I had nearly caught him, something so big appeared in the sky . . . so big with pretty colors that danced in the darkening sky, and he laughed and waved his little hands. He always liked the Northern Lights, and I suppose he thought that's what these were. But this was nothing like that -- and then we were caught in a beam of light . . . neither the boy nor I could move . . . and that's when the banshees came . . . gray they were, with big dark eyes . . . and they took him . . . they took my little one . . . I begged them to take me too . . . but they wouldn't. . . . They said he would be all right and they took him."

his heart cried.

The old woman sagged into his arms as he thought about her words and Samantha's abduction. According to the evidence he had found after his father's death the government had taken her, but there was more, far more going on than that. What if they had intended to take her, but it was already too late . . . what if someone -- or some _thing_ \-- else had gotten there first?

"Finally, someone who believes me," she murmured. "You've seen them, Wolf. I know you have."

"Yes," he replied softly, cradling her frail body in his arms. "Yes, I have seen them and been paralyzed by the light."

"Keep looking, Wolf . . ." she begged. "When the men landed on the moon, I thought maybe they would find a clue, but nothing . . . nothing. . . ."

"I will," he promised. "I'll never stop looking -- for Brendan and -- and for Sam. . . ." he swore, But that thought was just _too_ painful. He might, someday, find Sam, or even Brendan. But their little one. . . .

"I'll never stop looking," he said again. She was sagging against him now, worn out by the walk, worn out by life. He realized that the old woman was dying, here, now, in his arms, and there was nothing he could do to stop it, nothing except hold her.

"Promise me . . . promise me that you'll stay with me tonight . . . you and Dana Kate . . . promise me, Wolf," she whispered.

"I promise you, Gran. We'll stay with you tonight."

Suddenly, the sky grew dark, and Fox felt the strangest vibration, an all-too-familiar sensation. He had felt it that fateful night when he was twelve and Samantha had gone, again in Puerto Rico and then again that day in the mine in West Virginia when he and Scully had found all those files. The rumbling shook the air and hummed in his very bones and he threw his head back, clasping Gran in his arms, and then it was there, the ship appeared above them with the colors dancing across its hull, and then the light came. It touched on him and the old woman, paralyzing him, but oddly he was no longer afraid. Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone. Gran looked up at him, her face glowing.

"It's all right . . . my Brendan . . . is all right. . . . I love you, Wolf. I've always loved you. . . ." And then she was gone -- he felt her go.

Suddenly, Fox heard a voice snap, "What the hell was that?" He looked up to see Walter Skinner standing there and, next to him, a breathless Dana in her lovely white dress.

"It was them," said Fox quietly handing Gran's body over to Dana. The old woman was so small she took her with no difficulty and stroked her face gently, silent tears falling. "It was them coming to tell her that her Brendan was all right. . . ."

Skinner turned away to give the three of them a moment of privacy. If he hadn't seen it himself, he would have thought Mulder a madman, and not for the first time. Whatever he had seen, it had nothing to do with weather balloons or satellites. His respect for Fox Mulder increased just a little more. Perhaps the man was not -- quite -- as mad as he had thought.

"I'm sorry, Dana. I'm sorry about Gran," Fox said, holding his wife as she held her grandmother.

"I think she knew it was coming, Fox. I think you gave her what she needed. I love you for it."

They carried the body back to the house and the wedding became a funeral. The older women surrounded Mary Elizabeth McBride and began to let out a piercing wail while Father Flynn administered the last rites. Dana explained to Fox that the women were "keening," a mourning practice that was dying out. The Garda was summoned as the law required, but Mulder's and Scully's and Skinner's credentials kept them from getting into too much trouble for moving the body, and Dana was a McBride after all. It was a small town and everyone had known that Gran McBride was going to pass soon, in any case. The constables themselves were relatives. And no-one would have done harm to Gran McBride. She was too well loved in the small community.

Finally everyone else was gone and the family was left alone with their dead. Aunt Mary looked at Fox angrily.

"You had to take her to those cliffs, didn't you?" she demanded, filled with grief.

"I'm sorry," Fox said quietly, looking at her. "It was what she wanted. It was why she summoned me here. I know it hurts."

"Now, you're being unfair to the lad, Mairead," said Barry, slipping his arm around his wife. "You know no one could resist her demands for long."

Aunt Mary nodded and buried her face in his shoulder.

"I . . . I just don't know if I can spend the night here," Margaret said. "With Mom . . . like this . . . I just don't know. . . ."

"It's okay, Mom," Fox said softly. "You and Wally take our room at the inn tonight. . . . I kind of . . . well . . . before she -- went -- she asked me to spend the night here. Dana and I will stay. I have to anyway."

"Thank you," Skinner said softly as Mulder handed him the key to the room. The two men exchanged a long look. When all this was over, they were going to have to talk. This was no longer simply potential FBI business. It had become family as well. Skinner was still in somewhat of a state of shock from what he had seen. It had shaken him deeply. Government conspiracies were one thing. Actual beings from other worlds . . . another matter entirely. For the life of him, he couldn't think of what else that light could have been. But Meg had started to cry silently, and he put his arm around her.

"Come on," he said gently. "You are exhausted. Let's go."

Dana sat quietly with her grandmother for a little while, grieving. Tomorrow Gran would be placed in a coffin and buried, and she would never see her again. She would miss her terribly, and yet a part of her was glad that Gran had gone before she had lost her ability to function, her mental faculties. Finally with a sigh she got up and went to the refrigerator. Taking a small bowl she poured milk in and walked to the door.

"What are you doing?" Fox asked curiously.

"Putting out the bowl of milk for the fairies," she smiled. "Gran would have wanted me to. The neighbor's cat is certainly going to miss it."

He nodded. Strange, he wouldn't have expected Dana to keep up such a silly tradition, not his beloved little skeptic. But then love knows no prejudice. He wondered what she had thought of the ship and the light. She hadn't said anything. Perhaps they would talk about it later, or maybe not. She had had so many of her beliefs shattered, had seen so much, that she was never entirely comfortable discussing it, not even with him. He would wait until she was ready. If she never was -- well, they would deal with that, too.

Leaving Gran's body to rest in the living room, Fox had lit a small fire in Gran's bedroom and they climbed into the narrow double bed together. Dana had felt a little strange about staying the night, but it was a tradition, and Fox had promised. She shivered slightly in the plain white nightdress that was all she had to wear. Earlier she had regretted not having something special to wear on this night, just as she had had nothing new for their first night together. But then, as now, she had not known. And now it seemed hardly relevant. It was their wedding night, but Gran's body was in the next room, and this was her bed.

He looked down at her, this woman, his wife. She looked so beautiful lying there next to him in the dimly flickering firelight. So lovely, as though she belonged in another age. He bent and kissed her and she returned his embrace. He pulled back and looked at her again with a small smile on his face. Their wedding night -- take two? Suddenly he had the overwhelming need to make love with her. He pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her and began to kiss and nuzzle her with an urgency that surprised even him. She pushed him away slightly.

"Fox -- I don't think. . . ." It felt so -- awkward. She wanted him -- always, tonight even more because of the wedding -- there was something about weddings, even when they weren't your own. And when they were. . . . She wanted to kiss him back but stopped herself. "I -- not here, Fox," she whispered. This was her grandmother's bed. It wasn't appropriate. Was it?

"What better place, love?" he whispered. "Our wedding night . . . I love you, Dana, so much. . . ." He reached for the ribbon at the top of her nightgown and untied it, then bent to press gentle kisses down her throat and upper chest. "Dana. . . ." He paused and looked at her. He wanted her -- desperately -- but he wouldn't force her, although he groaned mentally at the thought of yet another cold shower.

Dana closed her eyes, her mind working furiously. Their wedding night. He wanted her. She wanted him. She _needed_ him. They loved one another. And Gran had loved both of them. She remembered the first time, when her grandmother had shooed them out of the hospital room and told "Wolf" to take Dana home and get her pregnant. Gran wouldn't want them not to be together, on this night of all nights. And suddenly instead of being inappropriate it seemed so _right_ to be here like this. And wouldn't it be something if . . . they hadn't succeeded on that first wedding night, but. . . . She opened her eyes and smiled at him, a slow, soft smile with just a hint of seductiveness in it.

"I love you, Fox." She began to unbutton his pyjamas and his hand slid beneath her nightgown. "I love you," she whispered again, against his neck. "Make a baby with me, Wolf . . . put your baby inside me tonight. . . ."

With her slender body pressed between the old mattress and her husband's weight, she found herself wondering dimly just how many of her ancestors had been conceived and had been born and died in this very room, this very bed. The thought did not frighten her at all. In fact, it made their lovemaking seem so very right. Then, for just a moment, she had the oddest feeling. It didn't seem as though she were herself at all, but her husband, not being filled but filling, with him beneath and surrounding her, and she felt how much he loved her as though for an instant she were in his mind.

Fox felt as he loved her that it was momentous -- it was more than just the two of them there in that bed at that moment -- it was sacred and it was primitive. It was Man and Woman and it was Right. And then for just an instant his perspective changed, and it was as though he were Dana, lying there beneath her, feeling her inside him. A shock flowed through his system -- she had told him so many times how wonderful it was to be a woman for that very reason, and for just a moment he understood, and he felt that wonder in his own body. He felt her love for him, her desire for his child, for that instant what it meant to be her, and then ecstasy overwhelmed them both.

He separated from her and rolled on his side looking at her. Suddenly, a wind blew through the room in spite of the fact that the windows were closed. The fire flared. Dana's eyes met his. From somewhere came the sound of girlish laughter, happy and gay, and something reached out and touched their cheeks.

"Goodbye, Gran," they both said softly and simultaneously, and then suddenly the wind died and all was silent once more.

They stared at one another, speechless.

"Dana," he whispered finally, stroking the side of her face and gazing at her lovingly.

"Fox." She shook her head. "I think . . . no. I _know_." She swallowed. "Fox, we just made a baby."

He nodded, wonder and awe in his eyes. "I know," he said quietly. Tears filled his eyes as he continued to stroke her face gently. "I love you so much."

Her eyes were bright with unshed tears as well. "I love you, too, Fox."

He sighed and rolled over, pulling her with him. He kissed her forehead and held her in silence for a long time. Then she felt him tense slightly.

"Dana -- do you know what day this is?" he whispered excitedly.

She frowned in concentration. Saturday night -- no, it was after midnight. Sunday morning. Suddenly her eyes went wide in shock. She turned and gazed up at him. He was smiling down at her.

"Father's Day," she whispered in awe. "Oh, Fox. . . ."

He kissed her, her smile warming him inside. He decided that it was wonderful to be a man on a night like this.

"Happy Father's Day," Dana said softly.

And this time when they made love it was solemn, almost ritualistic, and then they lay in wondering silence for a long time before they drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Dana yawned and stretched and opened her eyes. The bright sunlight was dazzling and warm, but not too warm. She snuggled down contentedly within Fox's arms with a little soft sigh and a smile when he pulled her closer. Bliss.

Something felt different. A slight frown creased her forehead -- the sensation felt familiar.

And then her eyes flew open again in shock.

This was Father's Day. And --

She shifted to look up at her husband, who was watching her, a look of absolute peace and joy on his face.

"You remember," he whispered.

She nodded. "Yes -- how could I forget? But I thought. . . ."

"It was a dream?" He kissed the tip of her nose. "If it was, it was *some* dream, and we both had it."

She reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, smiling softly. "It wasn't a dream."

"No," he agreed, then stopped and looked at her.

"I don't understand it, either," she told him. "It just _is_."

He nodded and smiled down at her. "Guess we should get up, huh?"

"Guess so." Neither of them made any attempt to move for a long time.

Finally she sighed and sat up. "The others will be here soon.

He nodded and slid out of bed and they dressed quickly and quietly. He finished first and sat down and watched her. _His child._ He was filled with wonder.

She caught his gaze in the mirror and smiled softly at him, knowing what he was thinking. Fox walked up behind her and slid his arms around her waist, his hands spanning her abdomen.

"This one will live," he said quietly but with certainty.

"Yes." She, too, knew this. She didn't know how she knew and, for now, she did not question it.

She turned in his embrace and they held one another for a long moment. Then she reached up on tiptoe and kissed him. Neither had forgotten that it was the day of Gran's funeral, but both were happy because Gran had left them knowing that her last grandchild to conceive would give birth nine months hence. The joy in that knowledge overshadowed the grief at her loss.


	6. Chapter 6

It seemed odd to be holding a funeral in the same church where they had taken their marriage vows -- _could_ it have been just the day before? The atmosphere this time was so much more subdued, lacking the barely restrained excitement of the wedding. But death, as Father Flynn informed the assembled congregation, was simply another part of life. Dana had heard this sentiment over and over throughout her life and today was the first day it had made any sense to her. Gran had had a long and happy life, and she herself had been content to go. Her walk to the cliffs had concluded the last of the business she had on earth. It was as though she had timed the end of her life as shrewdly as she had arranged so many of its events.

There had been no service for the tiny baby Dana and Fox had lost so many months earlier; it had been so young most of the world would not even have considered it a child. But they did, and now, seeing the many friends and family gathered for Gran's funeral, her heart ached even more for the little one she would never hold, never bring into a church and give a name. The child she knew she now carried would never make up for that loss. The new little Mulder would continue to make its own place in their hearts as it had already begun to do, but the other one, the one without a face, would never fully relinquish its hold on her. And so her tears, when they fell, were as much for her child as they were for her grandmother. She had a sudden thought -- an image formed in her mind. There was a lake, and a mist, as there had been so long ago as she lay in the hospital in a coma. Her father stood there now, next to the lake, his hand outstretched in greeting. And then Gran was there, embracing her father. Gran had loved all of her sons-in-law, but Dana suspected she had had a soft spot for Ahab. And then, as she watched, her father pulled away from his mother-in-law and she bent over something he cradled in his other arm. He held it out to her and she took it and smiled, and Dana knew that it was her lost child. . . .

At her quick intake of breath Mulder bent his face down to hers. "Dana?" he whispered. She glanced up and into his worried eyes and nodded, speechless.

"I'm okay," she whispered after a moment's pause, and then smiled at him, her eyes very bright through her tears. And for perhaps the first time since that awful New Year's Eve, it was the truth. It was Gran's last gift to her, she thought: she was helping Dana say goodbye. His eyes searched hers for a moment, still concerned, and she squeezed his hand, loving him. He nodded and squeezed back. Whatever it was, they could talk about it later.

When the funeral was over they all assembled outside the church. There was the usual hugging and kissing and crying, and then the crowd melted away, leaving the Mulders bewildered. After having heard so much about an Irish wake, and knowing Gran's popularity, they had expected -- they didn't know quite what they had expected, except that this was not it.

"The gathering will be tomorrow," Barry explained as they walked up to Gran's empty cottage. "This is the Sabbath, and Fathers' Day, as well -- and with the wedding and all," he shrugged. "Folks understand."

They stood in silence for a moment, staring up at the house's dark windows.

"God, I'm going to miss her," said Shelagh, cuddling her infant close as they went inside.

"We all are," Margaret said gently.

"Aye, she was an intelligent, exasperating, funny and wonderful woman," added Barry quietly. "We won't be seeing her likes again for a long time." Although he and his irascible mother-in-law had not always seen eye to eye, they had respected and loved one another. It had been the same for all of her sons-in-law. He remembered Bill Scully and smiled, then glanced over at his sister-in-law's new husband. A good man, Walter Skinner. Bill had been Margaret's first love, but he could see that she did indeed love Walt, and that he made her happy. Although -- he broke into a grin, running his fingers through his own thick hair -- he didn't know why she always went after the bald ones.

"Yes, and now you'll have no one to argue with except me," smiled Mairead. She set out a pot of tea on the table and began to pour. "So much to take care of," she sighed, "so much to do . . . well, I suppose there is no rush."

"I'm sorry I'll have to leave so soon, Mairead," Margaret said with a nod of thanks for the cup of tea. "I feel my place is here with you right now, but. . . ."

Her sister cut her off with a wave of a hand. "Nonsense. You were here when Mom needed you. She was thrilled that you came -- you should have heard her talking about it after you called and told us you were coming! And then the wedding. . . ." She broke off and glanced over at Fox, who stood with his arms around Dana, holding her back against his chest. "She really took to you, Fox," she said quietly. He smiled and nodded, accepting her unspoken apology for her harsh words the day before.

Margaret took her cup of tea and headed for the living room where Skinner was seated talking to Barry. As she passed Gran's old wooden bookcase she felt a sudden draught. She glanced up quickly but the front door had been shut. And then there was another, softer rustling and an object fell at her feet with a thud, making her jump and look down. It was a book, brown with dust and age, one they had never seen before. It must have been on the very top shelf. She started to bend down but as they all watched in stunned silence the pages ruffled slightly and a paper blew out. She reached for it and picked it up just as the strange breeze died.

For a long moment she stood stock-still and simply stared at the stiff paper in her hands.

"Oh my God," she whispered finally.

"What . . . what is it, mom?" Dana demanded, concerned.

"It's Gran and her first husband," she said in wonder. "We never knew. . . . She never told us much about him. . . ."

The others crowded around her to look at the item in her hand. It was an old photograph, yellow with age. In it was a young woman dressed in what could only have been her Sunday best. She looked so incredibly like Dana that several of the members of the group gasped. The similarity was uncanny -- almost identical. Dana noticed that on her dress was pinned the cameo Gran had given her on her wedding day. And at her side. . . .

Tall and lanky, much, much taller than she. He had dark hair and light eyes, a square jaw and distinctive nose. Even in the faded photo they could see the mole on his right cheek. The couple was smiling and in the bottom margin of the picture was written in Gran's schoolgirl-neat hand, "Mary Elizabeth O'Connor and Wolf Padraic Mulder on our wedding day. Love lasts forever." Tears filled Dana's eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Stunned at the image of himself standing next to Dana -- Gran -- in the ancient photograph, Fox wrapped his arms around his wife. Mairead took the picture from her sister and slowly shook her head.

The edge of an envelope was sticking out from between the pages of the book as well. Margaret hesitated, then slipped it out. It was still pristine white and had obviously been placed in the book much more recently than the photograph. She turned it over, then her eyes lifted to meet her newest son-in- law's.

"It's addressed to you," she said gently, handing it to him.

"Thank you," he said softly, taking it and placing it in his shirt pocket for safekeeping. "I'll read it later." It was just too much to take in right now -- the abduction of young Brendan, the taking of his own sister, the "Mulder" name, his marriage to another O'Connor/McBride . . . the conception of their child the previous night. He pulled Dana against him more tightly and she wrapped her arms around his, unable to do anything more than hold him as he held her, stunned by that photo and its implications.

"No wonder she called you Wolf from the first time she saw you," said Siobhan. "And we all thought that she was just being Gran. . . ."

"She was," said Dana quietly, breaking away from Fox and wiping her eyes. "She knew exactly what she was about, and just how to let things take their appropriate course."

"My mother always knew what she was about," Margaret replied very quietly. "Always. . . ."

* * *

The next few days were a flurry of activity. Like her mother, Dana felt a responsibility to her family, but she and Fox had to get back to work. If, that is, they still had jobs when they got there. They had not mentioned the recent troubles to Skinner. Given the circumstances it was hardly appropriate, and Mulder wanted at least to attempt to straighten out the mess before his boss/stepfather-in-law got back. If they failed it would mean that either they would get in trouble with Skinner, which they did not want, or he would get into trouble defending them, which, given the recent rumblings over his supposed "preferential treatment" of them, they wanted even less. It was time to go home and face the music.

Tempering their anxiety over their work status was the knowledge that they would be returning home a little richer -- make that a great deal richer -- than they had come. They had not said anything to the rest of the family yet about the baby. It would be too hard, if not impossible, to explain, and they wanted to hug their secret to themselves for a little longer. Fox had wanted her to make an appointment to see Amy Chan immediately when they got home but Dana convinced him that she could not do that. "After all, what do you want me to say?" she had asked him. "'Hi, Amy -- had a great trip and, guess what? I'm a week pregnant'?" Finally he had agreed, but he silently promised himself that nothing was going to go wrong this time, not if he had to put Dana to bed and sit on her for the next nine months.

Finally it was time to go and the whole clan gathered to see them off, including Shelagh and the baby, who insisted on being held by Fox until the last possible moment, to Skinner's great amusement. At least this one wasn't in the drooling and spitting stage yet, Mulder thought with a grin which softened into a tender smile as he watched Dana hugging her cousins. He guessed this was good practice. And who knew? He might even get used to all those bodily fluids eventually. He would have to -- he knew Scully would insist on his doing his fair share of the diapers. At that moment he didn't care -- so long as they were both safe.

Mairead relieved him of the baby and handed him a small package instead. He lifted it to his face and sniffed.

"Irish soda bread -- in case you get hungry on the way," she informed him with a smile.

Dana laughed. "He's always hungry," she assured her aunt, who had pulled Fox down into a hug.

Barry was next. He stuck his hand out and they shook. "You take good care of my niece, now," he said in an undertone.

"Yessir," Mulder assured him. "I will."

"Here," Shelagh said, handing him an oddly-shaped bundle. At his inquiring expression she shrugged. "Father Flynn dropped by this mornin' -- said he didn't want to disturb you but that you might be needin' this yerself someday." Fox took the package from her and knew immediately from its shape and heft that it was a bottle of Irish Mist. He groaned and then laughed. Briefly he wondered whether he would have to declare it for customs, then shrugged and added it to the pile in the back seat.

They climbed into the rental car and, with a last wave and shout, were off. This departure reminded both of them of the one from Martha's Vineyard, and they looked at one another and smiled. Despite the differences in geographical location and social position, when you came right down to it, family was family.

* * *

They had stayed an extra day to help out and so they had to use their Aer Lingus tickets back to London after all. Dana was a little disappointed; after all Fox had told her of the English and Scottish countryside she had hoped for a more leisurely journey on the train, but it could not be helped. And when they boarded the plane and once again took their first class seats, she had to confess to herself that she was grateful. The trip had taken a lot out of both of them. Physically and emotionally exhausted, she fell asleep against his shoulder.

She had given him the window seat, so he turned slightly to place his back half against the wall and half against the seat so that he could cradle her more securely. Carefully, so as not to awaken her, he slipped Gran's letter out of his pocket and read it yet again. He had not yet shown it to Dana because he could hardly take it all in himself. With each subsequent rereading it grew at once more difficult and more simple to accept. She knew that the letter had disturbed him but, despite her intense curiosity, had not yet asked him about it. He would not keep it -- whatever _it_ was -- from her for long. She trusted him. She respected his privacy. And so as he read he gently stroked her hair, reveling in her nearness which helped to convince him that at least a part of the fantasy was real.

This time, upon finishing the letter, he could not repress a little sigh of incredulity and wonder. Dana stirred in his arms and finally raised her head to look at him sleepily. The lines softened in his face as he gazed down at her, at the sweet pale face with the big blue eyes that somehow set his whole world in focus every time he looked at her. He lifted a trembling hand to caress the curve of her cheek for a long moment and her eyebrows furrowed slightly. She knew that look on his face. He silently held out the letter to her and she took it, turning away from him slightly so that the light fell on the pages over her shoulder. He kissed the top of her head and his eyes traced the now-familiar lines with her:

_My dearest Fox,_

_Yes, I have always known your name was Fox, and a fine name it is too, lad. More's the pity you don't like it. I knew the moment I laid eyes on you that you were related to my beloved Wolf. Somehow, though it is lost in time, a group with the surname of Muldoon moved north and became Protestant. The name changed over the years to Mulder. Who knows how these things happen?_

_I met and fell in love with Wolf Mulder when I was a young girl and his father came to work for mine one summer. Before many days had passed the whole town knew that the Mulders were Protestant. We were of course faithful Catholics, but my blessed father believed that we were all brothers and sisters under the skin, where our Irish blood ran true. He hired Wolf's father despite the neighbors, and got a good summer's work in exchange for his kindness. After the summer ended the Mulders remained, and by that time it was clear to my Da that he had gained much more than a faithful employee._

_We would meet in secret, Wolf and I, always mindful of the danger we were putting ourselves and our families under. Thomas Flynn must have known, but he kept our secret. He was a far better friend to me than I deserved; it wasn't until years later that I learned he had loved me in secret. His love was true: he loved me enough to want to see me happy, even if it were with another man. I have been well loved in my life, Fox. It gladdens my heart to know that my Dana Kate is loved like Wolf loved me._

_The day my Wolf asked me to marry him was the third happiest day of my life. The second was our wedding day and the first, the day our Brendan was born. He went to my father that night and asked his permission. I didn't know what we would have done had Da said "no" -- still don't. Run away together, perhaps. I would have followed him to the ends of the earth, even if it meant leaving my family behind. But Da had a long talk with him and then they went together to see the priest. Wolf promised that we would raise our children Catholic and Father O'Malley agreed to marry us. I think he decided he would rather see me unequally yoked than living in a greater sin. And God smiled on us. That Sunday it rained as hard as I've ever seen it rain, and no-one was there to hear the banns read. We were married quietly and by the time the townsfolk heard of it it was too late -- we were well and and truly wedded in the sight of God and man and one another._

_My sweet gentle Wolf had an older brother, Liam, who was his complete opposite: a cruel and nasty man. He married a sweet soul and moved to Boston where he grew wealthy off of the suffering of others. Liam changed his name to William, denied his heritage, and had two children, your father William and a daughter, Sophia. Sophia was intelligent enough to leave and make her own way and fortune, although it would seem she has disappeared without a trace. William stayed and became your father. Whatever he may have done to you, gentle Fox, was nothing to what was done to him by his father. I often wondered how two such different sons could have come from the same parents. Eventually I came to believe that somehow Wolf had been gifted with all the kindness and tenderness that Liam never had. The difference was evident even in their boyhood but grew more obvious with the choices they made. Whatever one has been given by God in the way of blessings or shortcomings is confirmed or destroyed by what we do with our lives._

_After Brendan was taken and everyone thought me quite mad, we came to America as well, but the rift between the brothers was too deep, their natures too different. My Wolf was a good man, Liam evil, a Nazi sympathizer before the war, before my Wolf was killed. God only knows what harm he and his kind have inflicted on the world. My Wolf was a policeman in Washington DC, a good man who did small kindnesses for those he could as he walked his beat. He was killed trying to stop the rape of a child, knifed to death in an alley. The biggest sorrow of my life was that I had never conceived another child with him. Eventually I married his best friend James McBride, had my girls and a good life, but there was no love like the love that I had for my Wolf. The moment I saw you, those gentle hazel eyes and the way you looked at my Dana Kate, I knew that you had taken after my Wolf and that you would be right for her. Yours is a special love. It will always endure._

_Perhaps this is God's way of righting the old wrongs. I believe that somehow, because of you, Wolf still lives._

_Remember, I love you both always. I wish I had had a son just like you._

_Mary McBride_

When she finished reading Dana closed her eyes and the tears that had been welling up spilled over and streamed down her cheeks. So many answers now, suddenly, to so many of the questions they had had. His father's involvement with the men who had taken Sam, probably an attempt to win his father's affection -- his dying plea for forgiveness -- the revelation that he had been forced into horrible government projects against his will. And Fox, suffering a lifetime for his grandfather's sins. He promised himself he would visit the old traitor in the nursing home. He had been putting it off. It was ironic -- they had looked everywhere for answers about Operation Paper Clip and now he had a feeling the old sinner might just hold the key. But he said none of those things now. Dana turned and looked at him and then shook her head, speechless, and he gathered her into his arms. She wept silently against his chest and he stared out across her flaming hair at the brighter fire of the rising sun and the promise of a new day.

* * *

It was good to be home. Hectic, but good. They made a quick trip to the grocery store on the way home from the airport and tossed a load of laundry in the washer while they unpacked the rest of their things.

"Well, I guess I better go get that damn bird," Dana said wryly. "You won by cheating on the toss, of course."

"Of course," he laughed, then took both her shoulders in his hands, "but I'll go get the monster, sweetheart. Mrs. Anderson is much less likely to try to throttle me." He kissed her cheek and headed for the door.

No sooner had he gone when there was a knock. She opened the door and found Melissa's husband, Chuck, standing there looking rather sheepish. He had the little Pomeranian in his arms, the one she had gotten from Mr. Bruckman.

"Uh, Dana, I'm sorry to do this to you, but Melissa has developed a terrible allergy to the dog and the doctor said we had to get rid of him. . . . Breaks my heart, you know. . . . We kind of changed his name to Thing. . . . Anyway, here he is with a bag of his food. . . . Uh . . . see you soon . . . bye" and Chuck, having delivered his obviously rehearsed speech, seemingly without stopping to take a breath, thrust the dog into her arms and escaped down the hallway like a bat out of hell.

"Oh, great -- that's just _great_ ," Dana muttered. Fox hated the dog. She set him down on the floor just as Mulder came in with the bird cage. He was laughing at something. Until he saw Thing, that is. The dog immediately started yapping, then walked over and lifted his leg all over Mulder's shoe.

"What the hell is this?" he sputtered, his eyes wide.

"It's a dog. . . ."

"I know it's a dog. I even know what dog it is. It just peed all over my shoe. I am now intimately familiar with this dog, this dog that we _supposedly_ gave to your sister. What's it doing here?" He was standing on one leg, his $125 Reeboks dripping on the carpet, holding the birdcage in one hand for balance.

"He was making my sister sick so Chuck just dropped him off. . . ."

"Well, it's making me sick too." He paused for emphasis. "Dana, it _peed on my shoe_ , goddammit!"

" . . . Peed on my shoe . . . peed on my shoe . . . peed on my shoe. . . ."

"Oh, God," Dana muttered. "I'm beginning to believe in past lives. I can't think of _anything_ I've done in this one that's awful enough to deserve this. . . ."

Fox put the bird cage down. "It's a good thing that Mrs. Anderson enjoys him," he muttered. "Claims he takes after his grandfather who was her first parrot and had the world's dirtiest mouth . . . until now. . . ." He very gingerly slipped out of his shoe. "It's your goddamn dog, Scully. You clean up after it. I am not walking it, and I am _not_ sleeping with it."

"Okay, okay. . . ."

" . . . Open your legs, Scully . . . peed on my shoe . . . peed on my shoe. . . ."

"SHUT UP!" Dana yelled. Then she turned to Fox with a wry smile. "Welcome home, sweetheart. . . ."

* * *

He took over the laundry while she cleaned up after Thing and saw to his more immediate needs. Then, both exhausted from the trip, they headed for bed very early, planning to fall right to sleep. But, well, it was so nice to be back in their own bed . . . and they _had_ just been "married" a few days earlier. . . .

"Dammit, Dana . . . I can't do this." Fox rolled off of her and sat up, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "Jeez."

"What's wrong?" she asked.

" _That's_ what's wrong," he said, pointing to two glowing eyes peering over the top of the mattress and whining. "I can't screw with the damn dog watching."

"Don't be crass," Dana admonished. Suddenly, Thing backed up and took a flying leap, landing on the foot of the bed. He curled up and promptly went to sleep.

"He's asleep," she said suggestively, running a finger down his spine.

"Yeah, in my bed," Fox muttered. He returned his attention to making love to his wife. Things went just fine for the first couple of minutes, or perhaps it was only seconds. No sooner had Fox gotten himself comfortably ensconced just where they both wanted him to be, when there was a snarl and something sharp sank itself into his buttock. He let out a howl that most definitely was not one of pleasure and leapt off of her, only to hop up off the bed when the injured portion of his anatomy came into contact with the mattress. "He _bit_ me, Dana! The damn dog _bit_ me!"

She sat up and motioned for him to turn around, which he did slowly, looking around frantically for the dog, which had made itself scarce immediately upon hearing his would-be-master's shriek. A bite-and-run if ever he saw one.

"Lie down, Mulder," she choked, pulling him down so that he lay on his stomach in front of her. She wanted to laugh so badly that she could barely contain herself and he knew it. It really wasn't funny . . . well, actually it was kind of funny. . . . She got up and disappeared into the bathroom and returned momentarily with the dreaded brown bottle in one hand. She held the other behind her back and he eyed her suspiciously.

"That's peroxide. It's going to hurt. . . ."

"Stop being such a baby. . . . It could be worse -- I could use rubbing alcohol," she informed him, gently bathing the affected area.

"Ouch! Jeez . . . I hate that f**king mutt."

"He was only protecting me."

"Great . . . that makes me feel a lot better. The Thing was trying to protect you from me . . . no wonder Chuck and Melissa were so eager to get rid of him. Jeez, Dana, I'm glad you're not a brain surgeon . . . what the hell . . . OUCH!!"

"It needs a stitch or two. I just gave you a local."

"So because it's protecting you, I gotta get my ass stitched up . . . when I wasn't even doing anything to you. I mean doing anything to hurt you. Why do I get the feeling that this is unfair. . . . The thing probably has rabies. . . . Jeez. . . ."

She gave him an injection of a broad spectrum antibiotic and suddenly the absurdity of the situation hit him. He began to laugh and laugh and, after a moment, she joined him. They had travelled halfway around the world and had arrived home safely with all their luggage intact (including the forgotten bottle of Irish Mist from Father Flynn), having suffered nothing more serious than a couple of mild hangovers, and here, in the safety of their own home, he had been attacked. In his own bed. By their dog.

And then, just as suddenly, he stopped laughing. Something more _had_ happened to them in Ireland. He propped himself up on one elbow to look at the woman beside him. He gently reached out and touched her abdomen.

"Some watchdog, huh?" She nodded, still hiccuping faintly. He sighed. "I suppose I should be glad he's such a good protector for you." He bit his lip and shook his head.

She lay down next to him and stroked his face. "I've already got one of those," she said with a faint smile on her face.

His eyes lit up and he smiled. Then he grinned and patted her stomach again. "Good thing we made this little guy while we had the chance, huh?" She smiled back at him, then stood up and offered him her hand and they headed to the kitchen for some hot cocoa. As they passed through the living room an incredible sight met their eyes. Thing was curled up in the recliner with Krycek, who had broken jail, sitting on his back, head tucked under his wing, sound asleep.

"It must be love," Fox laughed softly.

"Oh, it is," she assured, looking him straight in the eyes.

In the kitchen, Fox drank his cocoa standing. If this bite was as painful as he suspected it would be he would have to take a pillow in to the office Monday morning. If they still had jobs, that was. But for now it was still the weekend and he was standing in his own kitchen drinking hot cocoa out of his favorite MST 3000 mug, and his wife . . . his wife . . . was snickering again.

"What?"

She shook her head. "I was just wondering. . . ."

" _What_?"

She looked at him and stopped laughing. "D'you think you could teach Krycek the Rary joke before we give him to Mrs. Anderson?"

The calm of the apartment building was broken by the sound of peals of laughter, masculine and feminine. In the dimness of the living room Krycek muttered sleepily, "peed on my shoe . . . peed on my shoe. . . ." To which, of course, there was nothing to say, so Thing said nothing.


End file.
